Shadows and Gold
by 16DarkMidnight80
Summary: I never had much in the way of, well, anything. Until, one day, I got it. I was happy for the first time in years. But then...I guess I have to live and roll with it. Not much you can do when life gets in the way. - Bayverse; no slash between Jazz and Prowl. Note: The description has been changed as of 30 Aug 2013.
1. Prologue

I don't own anything; it all goes to Hasbro and such. Reviews would be appreciated, suggestions welcome, and constructive criticism looked forward to. I don't think I have anything else to say, so read and hopefully you can enjoy.

Shadows and Gold

_**Prologue**_

Slowly, painfully I opened my eyes. Sunlight barely streaked in, the dirt room cast into many dark shadows. My whole body was in agony, and I gritted my teeth together as I tested my restraints. They were a little looser than before the last beating, before I was knocked into unconsciousness. The shadows moved minute by minute, and I could tell that the sun was setting, and that night was almost upon me. With a heavy sigh, I assessed my current situation.

To say it wasn't looking up would be a huge understatement.

I couldn't feel my legs anymore, which left me in a state where I was grateful but also concerned. I was glad that I didn't have that searing pain anymore, however if I couldn't feel them…well, let's just say that isn't good. They were practically shredded up to the knees and bent at unnatural angles.

My right shoulder was dislocated and the left was on its way to being so, too. It was hard to say, because I'm not medical professional, but I was beginning to suspect my right forearm was broken while the left was merely fractured.

Ribs were broken and cracked, that I could feel without prodding, not that I could, considering my wrists were shackled above my head where I sat. I tried not to move that much, not only to ward off potential discomfort, but I didn't know if one of those bones would poke something extremely vital, like a lung or my heart.

That would put a damper on my day.

My pelvic bone would need to be reshaped, I knew. I ached down below my waist, from the many times they had come in and done their…dirty deed to me. Ignoring that, I continued on with my assessment. Numerous cuts and lacerations littered my body, some festering with infections. I knew I had a fever, if my fine sweat was anything to go off of. The most noticeable was the slowly scabbing gash that ran across my face. It started from the left side of my forehead and crossed over. It went over my eye, completely destroying it and leaving me blind in it, across my cheek. Then it turned downward, following my neck and ending just below my collar bone. It had hurt like nobody's business.

The pain should've driven anyone insane, and they should've begged for mercy, to be let free of all of it. I was not like most, though. This wasn't my first crack at neither torture nor rape. I had survived it before, and I would do it again, just to prove to the world that I wouldn't let anything take me down.

Time passed both slowly and quickly. Days trickled into one another, blending together. I wasn't sure how long I had been here. It had to be over a couple months, but definitely less than five years. Not very narrow, I know, but it was something to work with. I listened to the familiar sounds of the diurnal critters tucking themselves away for some much needed sleep, while others began to rouse from their chosen beds.

Sometimes, if it was a clear, crisp night, and you got to sit out in the middle of it, it was like you were on a totally different planet. Sidewinder snakes 'stepped' across the cooling sand, diving into it to stay warm. The evening bugs came out and began to sing their songs. The stars twinkled and winked as the moon watched from above, as if keeping an eye out for all the little critters. Maybe a breeze would flow by, and the fine grains of desert sand would skid over the others. The few bushes or other plant life would rustle softly, like they were trying to keep from disturbing the aura. It was utterly amazing and beautiful.

Another antagonizing sigh escaped my cracked, bruised lips. I wanted to be free, to see all that again. I was starting to forget what the moon looked like, how the stars shined, how the sun vibrantly glowed. That's what happens when you are in solitary confinement while being a prisoner of war. For crying out loud, I rather sit outside every day, all day than be stuck in here!

So lost in my thoughts I was, that I didn't register the darkness being chased away from the sun's rays as it penetrated through my small window. What did pierce through my fog of thought were the heavy footfalls of two approaching men. They were coming for my morning interrogation. And to give me insufficient food and water, just enough to keep me alive, but not enough to function properly.

The guard posted just outside my jail's door opened it and allowed the two to enter. One was burlier, his muscles more defined. He was the bodyguard of the second, I think. The smaller, less muscular man was carrying a tray with bits of bread and a filthy glass half full of brackish-looking water. He set the tray on the floor beside me, to tempt me, but I was stronger than that.

The smaller man was the translator. I could speak their language, pretty fluently, too, but I wasn't about to let them know that piece of information. His English was shaky at best, but for them, it was better than nothing. The bodyguard stood on the other side, his AK-47 hanging from one shoulder, and under the other arm was a case full of torture instruments. I knew that because they often brought that in with them.

At this early, are we? Okay then, bring it on.

"Want water?" the translator asked, and I could see the start of a predatory smirk on his face. His accent almost drowned out the words, but I wasn't trained to be the best for nothing. I gave him a glare that, in a fair world, would've dropped him dead. My lips curled up in distaste at the smell of alcohol rolling off of him and his companion.

My outward appearance didn't shift, but my heart began to beat a little faster. I could feel the adrenalin slip into my blood. No, not this early! I didn't have any time to recover from last night! _No_!

Alas, it still happened. And it hurt. I hated that they enjoyed it, I hated that it couldn't be with someone who returned my feelings, even though I never had someone like that. Helplessness filled me, and with my eyes closed, I could feel the tears pricking behind the lids. They were like little daggers, wanting to be free. But I wouldn't give these idiots the satisfaction of knowing that they kept breaking me little by little.

I had the rest of the day to myself. No more visits, no more interrogations, nothing. Oh, how I wanted to cry and vent my grief, my anger, my _weakness_. I wanted to be free of this…but in the end, I knew no one would come for me. Sure, I was one-of-a-kind, but I was also expendable. I didn't get close to anyone for this reason. I knew of my job, of my missions, and I refused to cause good people that pain of losing me. So I closed myself off, not letting any emotions through. People turned away from me, called me cold and heartless.

Those words hurt, struck my heart more than they thought possible. But it was for their own good. I couldn't let them know I cared, that I died a little more if someone didn't make it home alive. I took it all to heart…and they didn't know any of that.

There were times when I thought someone would come to my aid, but it never happened. After a while, I began to accept the fact that I had no one. That I would die alone, leaving the world quietly and unnoticed. No one would mourn my passing, because, in the end, I didn't matter…

Stop the self-pity! You're a Marine, for crying out loud! No pity-parties for you; you don't need them. Buck up. You'll get out of this. You always do.

I looked around my prison with renewed spirit and determination. I tested my restraints, ecstatic that they were slack enough that I could pull them from the dirt wall. It took a couple of extremely antagonizing pulls, but eventually my wrists broke free. Now for the next problem…how to walk. They were useless. I would never be able to walk on them, so I wasn't even going to try. I guess crawling would have to suffice. I grabbed the AK-47 that was left in here by the bodyguard earlier in the day and listened for movement.

Cracking the door open the tiniest bit, I noticed the guard was dozing. Bad for him, good for me. I hated taking a life. All life was sacred, and only God should decide, but unfortunately, at the end of the day, someone always died. I shot the guard, and he dropped dead, having never suspected a thing. I listened intently for anything that suggested that I alerted any more. I poked my head out, looking both ways carefully.

The last prisoner, who had been killed not long after my arrival, had told me that they had an escape tunnel to the left of the door. It was cleverly hidden, dirt carefully laid over the trap door, but I found it. This was supposed to go for a ways, popping out somewhere downhill of the base. But it hadn't been used for years because of it being structurally unstable. Hey, sometimes you have to take crazy risks.

I levered myself down into the tunnel, making sure it looked like I had gone the other way. With broken and cracked bones, dragging my body wasn't easy, and I began to bleed again, but I had to get free. If anything, I would die a free woman, not some prisoner of the enemy.

I am the daughter of a free-spirited Navajo woman, a Navy nurse, and a brave African-American Navy SEAL. I am Colonel Thana Kalu, United States Marine Corps, and I don't take crap from anybody.


	2. Chapter 1

Hey everybody. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, because there is more where it came from. I'm sorry if updates don't happen that soon, but I'll try to keep it up. Note that I will _never_ abandon this, or any, story. I don't roll that way. I don't own anything, one of the downsides of being me. Darn. Anyways, on with the show…story…you know what I mean.

_**Chapter 1**_

The tunnel seemed to stretch on for so long. However, it may be because there was absolutely no light whatsoever down here, too. It was also because I was in an incredible amount of pain. It's so hard to even _begin_ to explain how much it hurts.

Still, I pressed on, slowly dragging my half-useless body, gritting my teeth together hard to force back screams of white-hot agony. Every few feet, I had to stop and heave a few breaths, my arms screaming in protest. After a minute or two, I started up again. Every time my body was jarred, or a rock scraped against my tender skin, or my arms cracked a little more, the sensation was utterly horrible.

For hours, I pushed on, refusing to give up. I was not born to weak parents, and those SEALs that were close to my parents didn't raise me to throw in the towel when the going got tough. I followed the soft turns of the corridor, wanting to howl in pain and frustration. How long was this stupid tunnel?

No sooner had I thought that, the less injured shoulder softly bumped against rock; not dirt, but rock. With some struggle, I lifted my head, noticing tiny slivers of light snaking their way through the smallest of holes. Freedom was so close.

And yet…so far away.

I was in no condition to push away such a large boulder. Even completely healthy and at my maximum strength, I probably would've had some trouble getting it to move. It was a horrible way to die, or slowly fade, as what was happening to me. Sunlight, freedom, was just a rock away, but that rock was immense and I was critically wounded. I wanted to scream and cry at the top of my lungs, but it would probably attract the wrong kind of attention.

For the next two hours, I sat there, back against the cool stone, thinking over all possible solutions. Normally, I was an excellent escape artist, but now, there was nothing to work with. Absolutely nothing.

By some stroke of luck, or something like that, I heard voices outside. Immediately, I perked up, recognizing the accents that were muffled through the rock and soil. American voices, some Southern, others Northern, Eastern, and Western. All American, and I was all too happy. Gathering up my strength, I twisted slowly until my mouth was by the largest hole at my level. Taking an antagonizing deep breath, I shouted, my voice echoing and dying in the tunnel. The voices instantaneously stopped, and I repeated the noise, but it was quieter. Nonetheless, they heard me, and their feet hustled over to the large stone.

"Anyone in there?" asked a man, and relief flooded through me.

"Yes," I croaked. He heard me and began to order some others with him to move the stone. I backed away, small debris still hitting my mangled body, stinging me.

Almost a quarter of an hour passed before they got the space wide enough for them to fit through. The whole time, the first man kept talking to me, asking me about my condition, if I had any allergies, where I came from, and so on. However, I noted that he didn't ask for my name and rank, and if he didn't ask, I wasn't going to tell. And even if he did, I doubt I would've told him. Classified information, you know.

Sunlight poured in without hesitation, and I was instantly warmed. The comforting feeling the rays brought did wonders to calm my frayed nerves just a bit. The rest would take time, but I was content as of now.

A man, dressed in Army desert BDUs came into the hollowed out hole, standing in the way of my precious light. Even though he faced me, his front was shrouded in shadow, but I was still able to pick out his facial features. And now, he gaped at me, eyes bulging, mouth open wide. Not liking his reaction, I glared with the rest of my drained strength.

"Are you going to stand there, looking like a fish all day?" I asked him calmly, but my voice was hoarse from years of lack of use. It seemed to break him out of his daze, and he quickly came by me, kneeling down. He cursed under his breath as he took in the damage done upon my body.

"Ma'am, we already have a helicopter inbound for you," he told me, his voice distant. He was trying hard not to connect too much to me. For all he knew, I could die at any moment, and he was struggling to keep that thought out of his head and off of his face. Two more entered, a beefy, bald, African-American, and another Caucasian man, slimmest of the three.

They worked wordlessly, carefully placing me onto the stretcher and securing me to it. I gave the name of my base to the mousy brown haired man, who seemed to be the leader of the platoon. He nodded, telling me that he would contact them and have my belongings returned to me at the earliest possible moment.

The Sikorsky HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopter landed and the men inside quickly loaded me onto it. I nodded to the eight men, giving my thanks without saying a word, and they understood it. They nodded back, small, relieved smiles playing on every single face. I was in better hands, according to them, it seemed.

The Pave Hawk airlifted me to a carrier out at sea, where I received my first round of medical treatment. After that was done, I was loaded onto a Grumman C-2 Greyhound plane, bound for Norfolk. It was there when I was subjected to more operations, removing even more dead tissue from what remained of my legs.

My legs, it turned out, were mostly unsalvageable. The right had to be amputated just above the knee, which would make rehab that much harder. The left, however, got to keep the knee, and I was grateful for that. My goal was to be able to walk without a limp.

After my operations, the resetting of broken and fractured bones, and the healing of torn muscles, rehab started. I had lost a lot of muscle mass from years of being a POW and not being able to keep up with my strict regime of physical activity. But each day was another to prove myself, to get stronger, and the physical pain began to wane.

Oh, I knew that it would never go away completely, and the mental and physiological pain would last much longer. Already, after almost a year in the Norfolk Naval Hospital, I was still feeling ghost pains.

Ghost pains were somewhat common among amputees. You still feel like you have the removed limb, and it aches. Like an inch you can't scratch, but on a different level. A much more painful level, that is. I was one of the unfortunate ones, getting these ghost pains almost as soon as I woke up from the anesthesia that knocked me out during my first of many operations at the hospital.

My time out in the Middle East also left me blind in my right eye. Now, instead of two golden eyes, most unusual for a human, I now only had my left. The right had to be removed, otherwise infection could set in, and there was a serious risk of brain damage, due to it being so close to my brain. It now appeared like it was permanently closed, like a never-ending wink. My whole depth perception was thrown out of whack, but the kind nurses that helped in my recovery helped me overcome that problem, too.

My CO came to see me five months into my eight-month stay. He told me that it would be unsafe for me to continue to do my regular missions. I understood, but that didn't stop the anger and disappointment from creeping into my heart. Without my knowledge, he also put my name into some sort of…bin, for lack of a better word. It would be reviewed by some secret organization that was in our government. They needed capable people to be able to do this kind of work, but the 'kind of work' was left unspecified.

When I asked him how I would be capable of doing more secret keeping for an organization I didn't know existed, he laughed. I wouldn't be used for my brawn, necessarily, but more for my exceptional brains at planning and executing missions. I would know by the end of my stay in the hospital if I was chosen or not. The recruiters who were going to look at our papers also wanted to do face-to-face interviews. Just to make sure they wanted that person, or if they didn't.

I counted down the months, then the weeks, then the days. A day was already picked for my interview, as I was informed by one of the nurses, and that someone would come and pick me up. We were going somewhere a little more private than a noisy hospital, and I couldn't blame them one bit. Some of the nurses here, doctors, too, were real bad gossipers.

I knew neither the name nor the appearance of my interviewer, but I had a feeling I would know them as soon as I laid my eye on them. It frustrated me, however, but I dealt with it.

By the time the day rolled around, I could walk without a limp; I was once again healthy and almost back to my former physical appearance. I was somewhat stocky, but it was all muscle, and it pleased me that I had come so far in such a short amount of time.

I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, letting my dark brown, almost black, hair fall against my back, reaching my lower back. My eye glistened in anticipation and eagerness, but a hint of caution was also there. I was dressed in Marine forest green camouflage pants, tucked into the boots appropriately. My shirt was simple and black, no decals or logos of any kind. By now, the Marine Corps had honorably discharged me, and although it saddened me that that phase of my life was over, I was also looking forward to the new challenges of civilian life.

A knock sounded at the door and the nurse let whomever inside. Instantly, I schooled my expression into one that was blank, no emotion whatsoever playing on my face. No need to let them know anything they might find…useful. I was going to play hardball, and wanted to see how far I could push this person before they cracked.

When I play, I play to win. And nobody is going to stop me.


	3. Chapter 2

Hey, lookie there, a disclaimer! It says that 16DarkMidnight80 doesn't own anything but the plot and the OC, Colonel Thana Kalu, United States Marine Corps. Too bad that the author doesn't own Transformers. It's a sad day in history now. Shoot.

Guess what everyone, and I'm ashamed of myself that I didn't notice or realize this earlier, but April 9th was very special. It was National Prisoner of War Remembrance Day. No, I'm not just saying this because the character is one, but it is a very important event, one that we mustn't forget. Now you know why I feel so ashamed of myself.

Don't forget about those past, present, and future, in and out of uniform. They're risking their lives so we can live happily. Don't ever forget that. They are heroes who don't need capes, because real superheroes appear to be just ordinary people.

Long beginning, and for once, I'm not sorry in the least. Hope you like this next chapter of _Shadows and Gold_.

_**Chapter 2**_

Turning on my heel, I was only faintly surprised to see two men near the closed door. I had intentionally assumed that there was only one, but I didn't live as long as I did underestimating any and all potential enemies. They must have walked in tandem, making their footsteps seem as if a single person only made it.

"Colonel Kalu?" asked the taller man, voice deep. I took their appearances in before I answered.

The shorter man was dressed semi-casually. He had khaki pants with a white shirt and silver sport coat. The taller man was in nice black slacks and white button down dress shirt, but no tie. They both had sunglasses on, but the shorter man's were sportier looking.

The first had darker skin, just shy of being as dark as I was. The other, however, was a lightly tanned Caucasian. They both had hair a shade darker than brown sugar.

"Who's asking?" I replied with a question of my own. The shorter man's lips twitched as he visibly fought a smile or smirk. The other didn't seem fazed, nor did I.

"We are here for your interview," the man answered. I nodded and grabbed my wallet, stuffing it into one of my larger pockets lower on my leg. I nodded and they stepped away from the door to let me walk through first.

We continued down the hall to the elevator, not speaking another word. It arrived quickly and we stepped in, and the darker skinned man punched in the button to go down to the ground level. As I checked out at the nurse's station, the taller man left to go to the designated place first, while the other stayed behind with me. He offered me a warm, excited smile as we left the sterile building. He became increasingly giddier as we approached what I assumed to be his car. It was a sleek silver Porsche Carrera GT. With a cheeky grin, he opened the passenger door open, only wincing slightly as I glared at him. I am still capable of opening a door by myself.

It was only a short drive to a small café a few minutes away from the hospital. Not many people were there, seeing as it wasn't even noon yet, and it was the middle of the week. The other man was already sitting in the back in a booth, sipping a steaming cup of coffee.

We walked to the booth, the other man sliding in beside the first and I sat by myself on the other side. A waitress came up and took our orders before leaving again. Still, we didn't talk until she returned with our drinks and left to attend to more customers.

"You still haven't told me who you are," I pointed out, taking a drink of my water. "Or what you want of me."

"You may call me Sean, and this is Jack," the tallest said. "We came to evaluate you and see if you would be an asset in our organization." Every word Sean said was spoken with the experience of a diplomat. He picked his words carefully and it seemed like he had quite a strong filter between his brain and his mouth. At times, I must admit, that has failed me in the past. Nothing incriminating has gotten past, but there may have been one or two times when I was but a child and I accidently said something that got me grounded. And back then, I didn't sit in a corner, I was thrown in the brig. A great childhood experience, am I right?

That was said with much sarcasm, if you didn't catch it.

"I have a feeling those aren't your real names," I said, my eye never leaving them. Something stiffened in their expressions, telling me I hit the mark. Me, one; the fakers, zero.

"And why do you assume that?" Sean asked, and I knew that his eyes were boring into my face, despite the fact that they were still hidden by the dark sunglasses.

"I'm sure you can think of multiple reasons, sirs," I replied coolly. "You surely read the file my CO sent in. However, it was not provided in what he had put in it. Do tell what you know of me, so we are on the same page." Eyebrows quirked upwards, I knew that I had surprised them. I'm smarter than I look; trust me.

Jack slapped the file on the table. It was a plain manila folder, and quite thin, too. I reached for it, twirling it so I could read it upright. No photos were among the few pages. It described in great detail how good I was at my job, at my qualities, but gave hardly any background information. Nothing specific about missions was posted in among the reports, and nothing about my life before I was officially accepted into the Marine Corps. It mentioned that my parents were both in the service before dying in the line of duty, but didn't name their ranks or names.

After reviewing the information given to me, I turned my gaze back up to the two men sitting before me, calmly drinking their coffee. I closed the file silently, sliding it back to them, and Jack took it almost immediately.

"You want to know of my missions, what I did, when I did them, and so on, am I correct?" But I didn't let them answer. "I will not tell you anything, as it is still all classified. However, I will try my hardest to sincerely answer any and all questions you pose to me."

For a couple hours, we sat there, discussing what this organization was and what it wanted from me. How I would benefit from it, and vice versa. Eventually, though, we reached an agreement. In three days, I would be able to be discharged from the hospital, and Jack would pick me up. From Norfolk, we would go to the airport on base, where a Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird would fly us out into the Indian Ocean. A small group of islands, Diego Garcia, which is where their headquarters were, and I was needed on the base at all times.

They would pay me, and I could in turn use my pay to buy essentials. They would be flown or shipped to me for free, courtesy of the United States government. Jack drove me back to Norfolk, where I checked back in, and I was again left alone to mull over what had all happened.

My life had changed, and drastically so. Eight months ago, I was sitting in a dirt prison cell, a POW. Five years and eight months ago, I was on a mission, one that was one of my more secretive missions. It was on this highly dangerous mission that I was caught and tortured for five years. Now, in the span of two and half hours, I had a secure government job, and I was actually able to retain my title of a Marine Colonel. I was going to live permanently out of the United States, but I hardly ever remembered being on the mainland that I was a citizen of.

Sitting on the uncomfortable bed, I stared out the window, the sun disappearing behind dark grey clouds. A storm was coming, but I had always loved the rain, so it didn't bother at all. Lightning flashed in the dark clouds, thunder accompanying it a minute later. It was still a distance away, but it was cruising this way.

Within the hour, the storm hit with fury. Wind lashed against the powerful walls of the building, rain pelting harshly against the glass windows. Lightning stretched across the sky, thunder right behind the flashes. The sky became even darker as the night came closer. The entire time, for all those hours until 22:49, I sat by the window, staring outside. My thoughts drifted from one subject to another, not lingering over any one topic.

Life had changed, but I accepted the change and would embrace it. As of now, however, I was content to relax. I had always found solstice in storms, seeing as they comforted me in an odd way. I was never one to cower under the sheets when the first of lightning made itself known. Instead, from what my parents and the SEALs told me, the first storm I witnessed, no one could put me to bed.

Apparently, I had stayed up the entire night, utterly captivated by the powerful storm that ravaged the desert. I actually growled menacingly at my parents when they came to collect me, so I could get some sleep. After that episode, they always let me stay up, seeing how much it calmed me.

It was always hard to get me to relax. Being born and growing up in multiple warzones always left me on edge. It was in storms that I found solstice, often just standing in the downpour, gaze locked on the menacing clouds above. I would get completely soaked, but no one dared called me in. This was my time, and they understood and respected that.

Eventually, I changed and crawled into the bed, still picking up the sounds of a dying rainstorm. Comforted for the time being, my golden-amber eye closed, and I fell into the sweet oblivion that was deep sleep.

I bet you all can guess at whom 'Sean' and 'Jack' are. And if you can't, don't worry. If this wasn't my story, I would most likely have a brain fart and not be able to figure it out. If you have any ideas or comments, PM me or leave them in the reviews. I would like to know what you all think of this story so far. I'll try to have another chapter up soon, I just have to be in the mood and have an idea strike me like a bolt of lightning.

I will, in later chapters, explain everything, or almost everything. I have plans for Thana and storms, but I'm not sure where or when I'll incorporate it into the story.

I guess that's all, my viewers. Enjoy and I'll try to post again soon. In the mean time, if you want, you can check out my other stories and leave reviews. I can't tell you have excited I get when I see and read the reviews. Have a great day, everybody!


	4. Chapter 3

Guess what's coming…disclaimer! I don't own anything. So sad, I know.

_**Chapter 3**_

The day had finally come. As I packed the last of my uniforms and spare clothes into my sea bag, sunlight streamed in, warming the room to a comfortable degree. But I didn't focus on it long. I had to keep to my schedule.

After I checked out for the last time of Norfolk Naval Hospital, a smiling Jack met me at the doors. I didn't change my expression from the blank slate it was, but followed the man to his Porsche. Again, he opened the door for me, and again, I glared daggers at him. This time, however, it didn't seem to faze him.

We pulled out of the large parking lot, going towards the airfield on the base. Jack had the radio cranked, hurting my ears, but I kept my mouth shut. This wasn't my car, so I had no control over the volume. Sure, I could've asked him, but I had survived worse noise, so I didn't say a word about it.

"Ya seem like a girl with a lot on 'er mind. Wanna talk?" he asked kindly, turning down the music so it became nothing more than background noise. I could feel his eyes glancing at me as we drove down the road.

"I'm fine, thank you," I replied, no emotion whatsoever. For some reason, it didn't seem to freak him out or cause him to recoil. Instead, he seemed eager. Why on Earth would he become excited over monotone? My eye squinted at him suspiciously, but he merely grinned back. We didn't talk for the rest of the ride until we got to the airfield. To my surprise, Jack drove right onto the airstrip!

He must be someone really important to be able to do such a thing.

The Blackbird sat on the runway, gleaming in the morning sun, engine already running smoothly. A ramp lowered in the back, and we drove right up into it.

"Ya can leave yer bag in the back," he quickly told me, getting out and jogging around to open my door, but I beat him to it.

"If I may ask, why?"

"It ain't gonna go anywhere, Colonel," he said politely, closing the door for me as I was doing so, then began to walk me to the spot where we would strap in for the flight. I regarded him cautiously. I've met many different kind of people, but he trumps the list by far. And that accent…I feel like I should know it, but I don't. And it bugs me to no end.

The Blackbird took off down the runway quickly; no sooner had I thought that last statement. It was one of the quickest launches I had ever experienced, and my muscles tensed. I had flown some aircraft, but never had I taken off with such vigor, even when my life depended on it.

"Ya okay there?" Jack asked, sounding genuinely concerned for me. I just looked back to him, an unspoken challenge if he wanted to ask that again. Wisely, he didn't say another word about it, but instead began to talk about a whole variety of subjects. They ranged from his comrades to music.

Occasionally, I would ask questions, and he patiently answered me. As the flight wore on, he got increasingly happier, which surprised me. Never had I ever been around one who had so much energy. Did someone tie him to a chair for the last three days?

However, he suddenly went silent, the crackle of a radio sounding from inside the Porsche. He unbuckled himself, walking steadily to the driver's side of the sports car. Reaching inside, he activated the radio, and I watched him closely. He tensed, and it seemed like he became angry, but at the same time, concerned. But why? What was this call for?

I continued to study the man as he reached in the back of the silver Carrera GT, grabbing my bag and bringing it to me. He quickly told me he had to go to the pilot real quick, and would be back real soon.

I gripped my green sea bag, successfully keeping the curious and cautious look off of my face. Jack jogged to a small hole in the wall that would take him to the pilot's cabin, and was back in a minute and a half.

"Colonel, we have some trouble comin' up ahead," he informed. "Ah don't wanna scare ya, but we're needed on the field."

"Who's we?" I questioned, hiding my minimal fear quite well.

"Ah gotta explain real quick, 'kay?" He didn't let me answer, but instead sprung into what he had to say. "Ah'm not Jack, Ah'm Jazz. We're in Skyfire, 'nother Autobot. The others need us, but we can't leave ya by yerself."

"I may not know exactly what you are talking about, but I can assure you I can hold my own. Tell me what I _need_ to know, and get me a weapon. If I am a comrade of yours, I must also pull my own weight. Am I understood?"

"Ah rather…"

"No," I interrupted. "I am not a damsel in distress. Give me a weapon and tell me who needs to be shot." Without further delay, Jack…_Jazz_ told me who and what to shoot at, where to shoot, and other things I needed to know before we got to the battlefield.

A good distance from the battle, Skyfire dropped us off before going back to the large-scale scuffle. I hid my bag with expert ease, gripping the weapon in my hands. Once situated, Jazz transformed back into his Porsche mode, let me in, and started to accelerate towards the other large robots.

I was…stunned when Jazz had suddenly turned into this large robot, but by his expression, I had hid it quite well.

The door opened as he drifted, and I jumped, more like rolled, out of him. The silver robot smoothly transformed, leaving me to fend for myself as he joined the fray. Not that I minded. Ducking behind some jagged rock, I peeked over it, sighting in on the ones that I now listed as the enemy.

Red orbs glowed with hatred, as did the blue ones on the other side. Several small robots started to come together, forming into some hideous monster. Taking a fraction of a second to confirm my target, I sent sabot rounds towards them, hitting my marks. They fell from one another, angered and apprehensive. One by one, I took them down as they tried to scatter. One shot, one kill.

"Decepticons, retreat!" yelled a booming, incredibly deep voice, and it had the same metallic ring as Jazz and 'Sean' had. The 'Decepticons' took off, retreating to who knew where to nurse their wounds. The others, I guess the ones called 'Autobots,' stood victoriously, but soon began to tend to their wounded.

Skyfire landed near the mass of metal bodies, the others loading the injured into his cargo bay. Thinking I was forgotten, I put the safety on my weapon and began the long trek back to where I had hidden my sea bag.

The roaring of a powerful, familiar engine came from behind me, and I turned to see Jazz racing towards me. He skidded to a stop in front of me, driver's door open wide for me.

"Walkin's a waste. Want a ride?" he said cheekily, and I could hear the smile in his voice. Well, they had won this battle, so I guess it was reason to be happy. I accepted politely, easing myself into his leather interior. Without me touching a thing, the door shut and the seatbelt wrapped itself around my frame.

Jazz drove me to the spot where the bag was still hidden, I grabbed it, and I timed him on his mad dash back to Skyfire before he left us behind. The robot laughed when I told him, in total deadpan, that if he kept driving like a maniac, I would do something that I wouldn't regret. He roared, howling in half-hysteria. All the other robots, even the ones injured, gave us strange looks, but behind the curiosity was the basic understanding of something I had yet to figure out.

"Jazz, you need to calm down," I said, nearly unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. I just couldn't understand what was so funny about what I said, and why it caused him to go off the edge.

Irritated, I refused to speak another word; instead I stayed buckled in my seat, mind wandering to darker topics. Jazz apologized, but it was punctuated with a rumbling chuckle, so I didn't accept it. Yes, I was acting like a spoiled kid who didn't get what she wanted, but even _I_ needed those moments.

I knew that my life changed, did a complete 180, and then some, but even that was minuscule to what I would experience in a few short hours. I thought I was ready for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I was so very wrong.

Not the best of chapters, and not the best fight scene. But it needed to be done, otherwise the story would be thrown all out of whack. If you have any constructive criticism or ideas, leave them in the reviews. I will look them over and give them consideration. Next chapter will be better, I hope, so just hang on. We all get those bad ones, don't we, or is that just me? It probably is, but oh well. Life goes on, right? Anyways, have a good day everyone and I'll try to get another up sometime in the next few days, hopefully, depending on how busy I am.


	5. Chapter 4

I'm going to be busy the next…well...the rest of this month. Wonderful, I know, but life comes first before the story; sorry. I'll try to do better with this chapter than before. On with the show!

_**Chapter 4**_

Life at Diego Garcia passed with ease and surprising speed. I had to be appointed a guardian, which I protested fully. The selection process took a good two weeks, because nobody could keep up with my strange tendencies and me. Or at least, strange to them.

The aliens from outer space, the ones with no gender, who are still fighting a war millennia old, call me strange. What hypocrites.

Eventually, it was decided that a bot by the name of Prowl would be my guardian. Actually, he was the 'Sean' I met a while back. He was black and white, obviously a police cruiser. I learned that he was the Second in Command and Head Tactical Officer of the entire Autobot fraction. His alt mode was a Dodge Charger LX, which he said was too sporty, but I thought it was awesome!

Of course, I didn't say this to his face or anything. I had always loved cars, sports cars especially, since I was a little kid and my parents brought me back to the US for a little bit.

I moved into Prowl's quarters the same day he became my guardian, although I continued to object. He even went so far as to make me my own small room in his own berth room, and a separate area for me to wash up in his wash racks. It was then I decided that he was actually a really nice bot, one who cared about everyone, and had gone to length to make me feel comfortable in this new environment.

That night, my first night in his quarters, I thanked him. Albeit it was awkward, but he understood I meant well. I just don't thank people that often, less so for ones who make me happy instead of just saving my life. Don't get me wrong, I thank those people every day, but when they can go beyond that, that's when it really means something.

From that day, we spent more and more time together. Mostly we spent it in Prowl's office, but we both made sure to go outside after work.

Many of the other bots that I met warned me that he was, and I quote, "a hard-aft," "has a rod up his stiff aft," and "unemotional." It was these comments that made me lower my respect for them. If they tried to see who this bot was, then they would see past his façade that he only dropped for Jazz, his newly arrived brothers, Smokescreen and Bluestreak or me.

I immensely enjoyed every second I spent in Prowl's company, and I was positive he felt the same way. I helped him with his numerous and seemingly endless reports, and he took me out for night drives and sat watching the stars with me.

Within the first two months here at Diego Garcia, I had participated in three scuffles, because that's all they were. No major injuries on our side, easy wins, but it were these scuffles that concerned Prowl and I. From experience, I knew that when the enemy still fights you but goes easy, they are planning something. Something big, and normally that doesn't bode good for you.

They needed to send in an operative, to infiltrate the Decepticon base and retrieve intelligence of what they were planning. It was the only way.

"Got anyone in mind?" I asked my guardian from my spot on his desk. I had my own smaller, modified desk that would hold one of their datapads and I could then view the information that way.

"Jazz, Mirage, or Bumblebee," he answered, his emotions all gone from his voice. He would somehow 'disconnect' his emotions at times, when he was looking over battle plans and such. This way, they couldn't interfere with the plan, thus giving it a better chance of success. He had saved a lot of lives this way, but even he had to admit, as I had gotten him to do so once, that sometimes emotions were needed in the planning. That's where I came in.

"Jazz is a master of stealth," I observed, eye locked on the plan laid out before us on the immense desk. "Mirage can disappear, and Bumblebee is a master infiltrator. All good choices."

"It as these times that you can point out the most obvious of things," he drawled, but even in this state, his metal lips quirked a hair. It seemed like I was the only one who could bring out the emotions even when they weren't 'activated.'

"That happens," I commented, my own lips twitching before it disappeared. "May I propose a fourth?" He looked at me, urging me to continue with his golden-amber optics. Jazz had been the first to comment on how similar my eye and his optics were in color. "Me."

This one word caused him instant turmoil. He didn't know of my strengths and skills, but he did know of my injuries. I was only allowed on the battlefield as a long-range sniper, but nothing more. I knew I could do more, but for his sake of mind, I kept my mouth shut.

Before my legs were amputated, I could sneak in and out of almost any building I wanted to. It was the times I got caught that luck had fled my side. Otherwise, I would've never been found.

"No," he said quickly, averting his gaze. But I looked up at him, throwing a small wad of paper at his helm before he looked back to me.

"And why not, may I ask? I am perfectly capable of doing this. Give it a chance."

"That only results in a 52.748% chance of success," he stated matter-of-factly, but I took no offense.

"That is because you don't really know me, Prowl. You think you do, but there was a reason why I did what I did."

"What was that?" Crap, I just backed myself into a corner. Well, he didn't need the whole truth. "The first time I saw you, you were still recovering from a five year stay as a prisoner of war." Bringing that up, now, are we? Things just got started.

"Yes, I was a POW, but I escaped, just like I had so many other times. Do _not_ underestimate me, Prowl. I don't care if you are my guardian; you need to know that I can take care of myself. I have been doing it since I was only ten years old. I have more skills than you know of. I can do this, just give it, _me_, a chance." I watched him closely as his battle computer fought his better instincts. Slowly, his resolve began to crumble.

He was going to be taking a large leap, a leap of faith that I wouldn't squander. It would be different, but I could still do it.

"On one condition." Aw, crap. "Jazz goes with you."

"Do you have any faith in me, Prowl?" I asked coldly. He looked to me, startled that I had used such a tone with him. But his glare and threats didn't do anything to faze me at any time. I was put in the brig as punishment when I was a toddler, I could handle a little withering glare thrown in my direction. "Is this because of injuries previously sustained in the later years of my last career?" He nodded hesitantly, because he was the only one who knew of my temper. I was always like a volcano, and it only took just one thing to push me over the edge and explode. The problem for people: they didn't know what may or may not trigger it.

"Thana…" Prowl only ever used my real name when it was just the two of us, or he was getting really serious. "I worry about you. You are so young, and shouldn't be part of this war, like all the other humans. I just want to keep you safe for as long as I can."

"Prowl, you knew the day you saw my file that you would pick me. Jazz has told me as such. If you wanted to spare me, why bring me here?" I let him mull over that for a minute before continuing again, but some emotion in my voice. "I know my limits. But I can't promise you I won't push them. I know this is going to be extremely dangerous, but I'm not going to promise I won't live on the edge a bit. I won't promise anything, but this one thing. I do promise that I will try my darned hardest to get the information, get back out undetected, without any harm coming to Jazz or myself. I am no stranger to war, Prowl, and I will not tolerate being treated like a child. Even when things seem hopeless, have hope. I've survived on hope and faith alone, so I know that you can do it, too."

I could tell my black and white guardian was deep in thought. His optics were glued to the plans spread across the desktop, but he occasionally looked at me. My one-eyed gaze flickered between him and the plans more rapidly. Suddenly, he vented a sigh, breaking the silent spell that had fallen in wake of my argument.

"Alright, Colonel, you win." I nearly smirked but caught myself. "I just commed Jazz; he should be here momentarily." I nodded, giving him a small, half-smile, but I could tell he appreciated it nonetheless. His own smile graced his face before turning back into SIC-mode when Jazz buzzed at the door before it opened, admitting the silver mech. "Jazz, I have a mission for you…"

I stayed with them, helping modify the infiltration plans to fit both Jazz and I. The only ones who knew of my...special condition were Prowl, because he was my guardian, Ratchet, the medic, and Optimus Prime, the leader.

The plan was to get in and get some information on why the Decepticons were holding back while fighting. We would go out unnoticed. For hours we tweaked the plans until they were just right to accommodate for Jazz, unseen obstacles, and me. Late into the night, we finally finished; the plans were as close to being perfect as we could make them.

"It's late, ain't it?" Jazz stated, stretching. "Wha' time is it?"

"00:36," I said automatically, earning strange looks from my guardian and his best friend. "What?"

"How did you just know that?" Prowl asked, genuinely stumped, and I knew from the mistakes of other people and mechs that if I said the wrong thing here, I could throw his logic circuits in a loop and cause him to crash.

"Remember how I said that humans are illogical by nature?" He nodded his chevron-ed helm slowly. "It's a Marine thing." Because I had told him it was illogical, he knew what to expect and I saved him from a crash. Funny what a person can learn in a few short weeks living with Cybertronians.

No real action, but that's going to come up soon. Tell me what you think of Prowl being Thana's guardian, because I genuinely want to know. Thanks to everyone who have left their reviews and/or have read the story…Actually, it would be kind of hard to leave a review if you didn't read the story…

_Anyways_, the last thing, the telling time thing without a watch is something I always liked from an older TV series. It's called JAG, standing for Judge Advocate General. It was mostly centered on the Navy and Marine Corps, but it was a lawyer show. It wasn't always in the courtroom, but those scenes are really cool, too.

The line "It's a Marine thing" is actually a line said by one of the main characters, Mac for short. She has this weird ability to be able to tell time without looking at her watch and get it right on the dot every single time.

I recommend watching it. Go to your local library or something. If you like the military, lawyers, fighting, some romance, this is a great show for you. Ten seasons long, lines that you can remember forever, and some of the cases are actually based off of real-life events. Give it a try.

Have a great day, everybody!


	6. Chapter 5

Not much to say as of now except that I don't own anything Transformer related but my OC.

_**Chapter 5**_

The next day, Jazz and I were on our way to the Decepticon base. It had been a year and a half ago when they had found where the red optics had holed up. Skyfire had had taken us as far as he could, but the rest had to be on foot, or in this case, on tire.

For some reason, I found it totally predictable that the enemy had set up a base on Antarctica. Away from distractions, free roam, and could experiment all they wanted without interruptions. It still surprised me that others hadn't found out about the many explosions Wheeljack, the Autobot scientist and inventor, had set off. Or how the Decepticons hadn't found out where they were, too.

For a few days, we trekked across the frozen land, deep into the interior of the continent. Eventually, through the sudden storms and life-freezing temperatures, we found it at last. Jazz easily got us through sensors I had expected to be there but didn't know how to counter them.

There were some kinks in the sensor grids, which we seamlessly slipped through, gaining access to the crashed spaceship that was their base. It was covered in snow and ice, but I could tell that it was truly frightening to look at. Although, it seemed that one of the robots had the urge to look a snow-crafting favorite on the Internet. Outside of the entrance, off to the side where it wasn't very noticeable, stood a snowman twice my height. It was completed with metal rods for arms and some extra metal parts for eyes, another smaller rod for a nose, and several rounded extras to form a smiling mouth.

It seems that they have taken a liking to Earth.

I crouched beside the silver mech, and I was distantly aware that my new legs worked wonderfully.

It had been the same day when I arrived at Diego Garcia when I had to get a check up from the Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet. The lime green medic had made quite a first impression. It was Jazz who was escorting me to the med bay behind the small line of injured Autobots, and Ratchet had forcefully thrown two smaller mechs by the names of Mudflap and Skids out of the med bay. There was a round of chuckles, absolutely no sympathy for the two.

I was the last one to receive treatment for minor scrapes I hadn't even realized I had gotten. By then, it was just the medic and I in the expansive room. When Ratchet found out I had prosthetics, he immediately gave work to the engineers and scientists that had arrived. Wheeljack and Perceptor, who had just recently arrived on Earth, were quick to start experimenting on how to make legs for me so that they could move exactly like the ones I had lost. They had finished just in time for this mission, and so far, I was enjoying being able to bend my knee once again.

I followed Jazz into the warship, both of us moving so quietly, we couldn't hear each other. The halls twisted and turned, but I trusted Jazz's tracking methods. We were going to the command center of it all, so we could get some information on their next plans. At least, that's what my partner was going to do. I waited and followed until he gave me the signal to turn and go my own way.

I knew exactly where to go, after studying the maps of the ship that they had managed to gather. My mission was to go to the debriefing room, because there was going to be a meeting in a few minutes.

Just in time I arrived, sneaking out of the ventilation system and onto the rafters high above the spiky helms of the Decepticon officers. Megatron sat at the head on a chair that was more of throne than anything else. Everyone else was sitting in simple stools, listening to the opening comments from the Decepticon leader.

My eye gazed at each mech, studying them so I was sure who was who. Megatron had been the most obvious, and I confirmed it was he by mentally matching him from the picture that was shown to me earlier. Also at the table were Starscream, Shockwave, Soundwave, Hook, Thundercracker, and Skywarp. I began recording their conversation while keeping an eye out for trouble. Because I didn't have a spark, I was virtually invisible to their advanced sensors.

They began to talk about an experiment that required a human. They were talking in their native tongue, but that much I understood. Why would they need a human? Why were they going to experiment on people? It probably had something to do with us working with the Autobots, and they wanted to get rid of as many NEST members as they could. I caught words like 'messy,' 'human,' 'experiment,' 'change,' 'transformation,' and 'weapon.' Otherwise, everything else was lost to me.

I would have to inform Prowl that I wanted to learn more about their language. It seemed like I would need it in the future.

Just as Jazz sent a ping to my two-way radio, the meeting ended. Great timing, I had to say. I slipped back into the air vents unnoticed and made my way to the rendezvous point near the area where we had come in. This time, however, more Decepticons were in the halls, seeing as it was the end of one shift and the start of another. While some of the Autobots back at Diego Garcia thought them as unorganized, energon-thirsty monsters, they did have some semblance of order. Sure it wasn't anything like they had to follow, but they were not complete idiots.

:: Got da info? :: Jazz asked into the radio, and I nodded. He smirked evilly, but it wasn't the one I had seen on his face just before or after he pulled a prank. No, those were mischievous; maybe a bit evil, but nothing like this.

He and I began to leave the base, but we had to tread carefully. The wind had picked up substantially, and I had a feeling that this could set off the sensors by accident. Jazz only confirmed this when I asked him.

We traveled quickly towards the spot where Skyfire would pick us up and take us back to the warmth of the island. I had been to Antarctica before, a few times actually, but while I enjoyed snow and the cold, this was taking it to an extreme. I felt like I wanted to curl up with a blanket, sitting on Prowl's warm chest armor, and stare at the winking stars. First, though, we had to get back.

"How do ya think ya first mission went?" Jazz questioned as the storm ended and we were about a few hours walk from the pick up point.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," I told him simply, preferring not to think of whom that question reminded me of. And that was the same response I had given, too.

"Tha's good. Got da recordin'?"

"Yes, Jazz, I got the recording." Honestly, what did he think I was? Some incompetent fool who couldn't do such a task as the one I was assigned? But I had kept the bite out of my voice, not wanting to get into a fight or to insult him. He did outrank me.

Not much else was said after this. Luckily, Skyfire had decided to meet us earlier and we got out just before another storm had hit us.

Arriving back at the base, the silver mech and I went straight to Prime's office, where the regal mech and Prowl waited for us. We gave our reports, I gave the recording to them, and we were dismissed. Jazz left, ready to grab a cube of energon and get to recharge. However, Prowl wanted to talk to me, so I waited until he was finished exchanging last words with Optimus and we left.

"How was it?" he asked as we started to head outside, the sun beginning to set in the west.

"Fine. I must say, the…additions certainly did wonders. Remind me to personally thank Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Ratchet for these. I feel so lucky to have them." He nodded in agreement. He had been very hesitant when I persuaded him to let me go on the mission, but the new prosthetics soothed his frazzled nerves a great deal.

We went to our usual spot. It was a very secluded area of the island that none of the Autobots felt like going to. But to us, it was special; a place of relaxation and a getaway from the realities of the world. It was a 13-minute walk from the _Ark_, surrounded by trees, elevated, and it looked out onto the ocean, facing west.

Prowl sat down, reclined against a tree, and I crawled up onto his chest, right above his beating spark. I snuggled into my guardian, content as the sun dipped below the horizon. Grey clouds were slowly making their way towards us, creeping into our view of the bright orb.

"Looks like there is going to be a storm," Prowl observed, servo cupped around me so I stayed on his chest.

"Yeah," I agreed, dropping my formal speech in the privacy of the one I was quickly learning to trust. It frightened me, although I would never admit it, to be able to trust an individual so quickly. But with Prowl…it just came naturally. It was like I somehow knew he could be trusted, that he would keep my secrets and I his. "I bet it will hit here around 23 hundred hours. What's your guess?"

"Your guess seems logical. But, I say it will be closer to 23:30." I cocked my eyebrow at him, but he just smirked. It was these moments when my trust grew just a bit more. It seemed illogical, pointless even, as to how trust could grow in a situation like this. But…it just did. I had no explanation.

As I returned my one-eyed gaze back to the darkening horizon line, I found myself hoping that there was going to be thunder and lightning. After the craziness of the past few weeks, I needed it to rain.

Tell me your honest opinions of the chapter and others before it, please. It's a lot more vague, but do you have any guesses as to who Thana was referring to when she was talking about the question that Jazz asked? I'm still unsure of who I want it to be from, truthfully, but it is between a couple of people you haven't been introduced to.

No reason to hide it, but yes, you will be given a bit more information as to why the Marine likes storms. What do you think of Prowl as her guardian? What are the Decepticons planning? What do you think of Jazz and Thana's relationship? Just some things to get you thinking a bit.

Leave some reviews, and I would be grateful for that. Any ideas you want me to consider, tell me, please. I guess that's all for now. Have a great day everybody!


	7. Chapter 6

Sorry it's been a bit. Life's been hecktic, and will probably be like that for a few more months. Not much I can do about it, so just hold onto your hats and keep calm. I'm still going to update _Shadows and Gold_, it will just be longer than I like.

I don't own anything, sadly, but I'll survive somehow. Enjoy!

_**Chapter 6**_

"Wha' ya doin' out here?" came a thickly accented voice that had become very familiar to me over the past few weeks. But I didn't turn to face the saboteur, my face remaining towards the dark sky, rain falling heavily all around me.

The storm had hit the island closer to my predicted time than Prowl, so I once again won at our little game. Right when that first crack of thunder had sounded through the thick, heavily armored walls of the _Ark_, I had left Prowl's and my room. I hadn't even bothered to change out of my pajamas.

I didn't care if I woke my guardian or not, I just wanted out of the room. It had suddenly felt like it was suffocating me. So I went outside, just in time to see the first fat raindrops fall from the clouded night sky. Lightning streaked across the sky in brilliant flashes, thunder right behind.

In the downpour, I stood still, finally relaxing after all these years, being stuck in the enemy's brig, then the hospital, and now at the ship. I did appreciate all that the Autobots had done for me, particularly the Charger that was my guardian, but I loved storms. This was my escape.

"It is only for me to know, Jazz," I answered the TIC, eye closed, enjoying the feeling of the water hitting my body and soaking me to the bone. I was quite a distance away from the ship, so he had to be very wet, or as wet as metal could get. "Ratchet would have a fit if he found out that you were out here in this storm." I finally turned to face him, being met with a smirk and glowing visor.

"Ah could say da same thing fer ya, Colonel," he cheekily replied. "Ya comin' back now? Prowler's getting' worried."

"Tell him that I will be in after it blows over." It was a cryptic answer, and we both knew it, but I refused to elaborate. I needed Jazz gone. I needed to blow off steam, and it couldn't happen with the master infiltrator here, in the same vicinity.

During storms, when I learned how to talk and walk, every storm I was outside for. I even went as far as to breaking out of the brig from a well-deserved punishment, just to go in the rain. Boy, my parents were mad, as were the other members of team.

Storms were my release. I could cry out my fears, dance in my joys, and everything in between. And I don't mean like crying with salty tears, but shouting to the vast nothingness. I would never dare tell anyone those things. But Jazz didn't leave, just like I had predicted. He wanted answers, answers I wouldn't give him unless I trusted him without doubt, and that would take a very long time to achieve.

"Prowler, Ah'm out 'ere with her. Don't worry, Ah'll keep an optic on her." The TIC was talking over the comm link to Prowl. I was unable to hear the SIC's response, but my best guess was that he grudgingly accepted Jazz's offer to 'keep an optic on me.' "A'right. Talk ta ya later."

"Jazz, you should just head back to the _Ark_. I want to be alone."

"Sorry, bu' Ah promised Prowler that Ah'd stay 'ere with ya. No gettin' rid o' meh."

"I won't ask again." Okay, so I never _actually_ asked him to leave, but I _needed_ to be alone. Why didn't he just see that and go back to the ship? Why did he have to come out here, at or not at Prowl's request? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'd mentioned it before that I have been doing so since I was ten years old. "Leave," I ordered, my normal monotone voice tense with frustration and anger.

"No," he said back, defiantly. "Ah'm not leavin'." There goes my relaxation, I thought as I turned to finally face him.

"When someone wants to be alone, you should respect that. There are reasons why I wish to be left alone, but you must be on a need-to-know basis, which you aren't. You don't have to be out here, I don't care if you want to be. If you want to, go do it someplace else, and just leave me _alone_." I stressed the last word, my eye burning into his blue visor.

"No." Fed up, I turned on my heel and began to walk farther away, deep into the storm, slowly making my way towards the wave-battered shores. And Jazz followed, but kept a distance between us, for which I was grateful. Trees swayed in the wind, waves crashing against the sand and rock of the coastline. Rain poured down in fury, lightning flashing, and thunder cracked. The island was being beaten into submission by the tropical storm, but it refused to give up.

I began to hum quietly to myself as I walked away from the trailing Jazz. I knew the perfect way to get rid of him, too. All I had to do was go in the water, swim for a bit, then come back once the coast was clear of all saboteur plating. I had become a strong swimmer, learning different techniques from my mother, my Navy SEAL father, and when I went into the Marines. I liked to swim like my father had taught me, pretending my arms were tied and hands bound behind my back. I always called it swimming like a dolphin, but my mother said we swam like mermaids.

_I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,_

_You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,_

_May you never take one single breath for granted,_

_GOD forbid love ever leave you empty handed,_

_I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,_

_Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,_

_Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,_

_And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance._

_I hope you dance...I hope you dance._

_I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,_

_Never settle for the path of least resistance_

_Livin' might mean takin' chances but they're worth takin',_

_Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth makin',_

_Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,_

_When you come close to sellin' out reconsider,_

_Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,_

_And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance._

_I hope you dance...I hope you dance._

_I hope you dance...I hope you dance._

_(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along,_

_Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone.)_

_I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,_

_Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,_

_Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance, _

_And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance. _

_Dance...I hope you dance. _

_I hope you dance...I hope you dance. _

_I hope you dance...I hope you dance.. _

_(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along _

_Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone)_

I sang it quietly, under my breath. Unseen, unshed tears pricked behind my eye, wanting to fall, but with a strong will, I pushed them away. I always loved that song for as long as I could remember. That and _Who I Am_. Those were songs that really described me as a person.

I looked upwards at the sky, the heavy rain becoming a mere sprinkle, and I was still distinctly aware of Jazz somewhere behind me. My golden-amber eye closed, and I felt the raindrops shift to a fine drizzle, the strong winds dying down. I hadn't gone into the water, which now had calmed, but I was soaked as if I had actually done so. With a parting sigh, now content that I had sung in the rain, I walked straight past a stunned Jazz, towards the _Ark_. I hadn't gotten to dance like I normally did, but for now, I was actually happy. With a smile unseen to anyone, I continued on my way, my mind a million and some miles away.

Hope you like this slower chapter. For the next few, I think I'm going to jump ahead in time and give you some more fight scenes and such. Tell me what you think of it so far, and I'll take anything you have to say in consideration. The two songs were _I Hope You Dance_ by Lee Ann Womack and _Who I Am_ by Jessica Andrews. Both are country songs/artists, which is what I mostly listen to. I gave you a bit more background info in my OC, so I hope you like it.

I bet you never would've guessed that she liked to sing and dance in the rain. I have played in the rain when I was little, but I haven't had the chance to do as I had described in the story. But I had always wanted to sing and dance in the rain, like Thana normally did.

Hope you enjoyed it and have a great day!


	8. Chapter 7

I found a little downtime, and a few ideas jumped into my head, so I was like, "Hey, Transformer time!" Not really, but you understand. This is what happens when I go on this wonderful site and read a bit. Little sparks become large, roaring flames, yes? Anyway, as usual, I don't own anything but my main OC, Thana, and a few others not specifically named in the story. So enjoy, leave reviews, and all that good stuff.

_**Chapter 7**_

"Colonel," called out the gruff, metallic voice of the Autobot medic. I stood and walked to the back room, privacy for me, since we didn't want my conditions to be revealed to the entire base. A few moments later, the neon green mech came over, the door sliding automatically shut after he left the frame. "How are you feeling?"

"The same," I answered. He gave me a half-glare at my almost bored tone, but didn't speak any further of how I was feeling. My answer never wavered, even when I was in pain from injury or mental pain, like ghost pains that he couldn't help with.

"You have been at the base for two Earth months, and thus far have avoided a full physical. Do I have to ask why?"

"Personal reasons." Mainly because he was a mech. Yes, I know they have no genders, but I can't help think of them as guys. Funny, I can go through torture, rape even, and not even blink, but the mere thought of a 'guy' checking to see if I was functioning properly. It was enough to send shivers down my spine. Then again, it might have to deal with the torture and rape. It's all so complicated.

"I thought as much," he said, checking over his smaller, human instruments one last time. "Take them off." I nodded and complied with his order, removing my new prosthetics from their stubs. What remained of my legs had healed up nicely, much to the amazement of the doctors at Norfolk and Ratchet, after he did extensive research on amputations. The Search and Rescue truck began to look over them, nodding thoughtfully here and there. "They have healed incredibly well, compared to others."

He did a full physical, with made me uncomfortable but I suppressed the flashbacks and deeply ingrained instincts. However, I got the feeling that he knew I wasn't happy with this. Ratchet did his job quicker, but still with efficiency. At the end of the examination, he scanned me. The sensation was strange, tingly, slightly uncomfortable, but not painful or anything of the like. A sound not unlike a hum came from his powerful engine. His optics dimmed a shade in color, and I knew from experience that he was really thinking hard. About what, I had no idea.

"I have never seen anything like this before," he muttered, optics darting back and forth, but not really seeing anything. He was still in his processor, going over something.

"This _is_ my body, sir, and I believe I deserve to know what you are referring to," I said diplomatically, if not a bit crudely. His optics once again focused on me, doing another scan on my body. What did he see? Concern crept into me, but I effectively pounded it down and didn't let it show.

"A spark signature residue," he informed me, only halfway into the conversation. "I hadn't seen this on Samuel or Mikaela before…" The medic trailed off, turning away to go to a giant computer on one of the walls. He accessed it and began to search for whatever he was looking for.

What was a spark signature residue? Prowl had told me that all Cybertronians had spark signatures, which is the most effective way of identifying someone. It was _almost_ a foolproof way, but some had been able to effectively change it so they aren't recognizable. Jazz, Bumblebee, Mirage, and a few other scouts I hadn't met could do it, and it served them well when deep undercover or on spying missions.

And who was this Samuel and Mikaela? Wondering, I voiced that particular question.

"Samuel Witwicky and Mikaela Banes," Ratchet answered, still on the computer. "They are the charges of Bumblebee, a scout you have yet to meet." I remembered what my guardian had told me about the mech. He was the youngest to serve on the _Ark_, found at the destroyed Youth Sectors after the war began. Good kid, from what I had heard, but had been previously unable to talk like the others because his vocal capacitor had been crushed by Megatron. However, after so many, many years, Ratchet had finally been able to fix it. I heard that he could out-talk Bluestreak at times, but I had yet to see if that rumor was true.

"Aren't they coming to Diego Garcia this weekend?" Hadn't Prowl muttered something to that effect last week?

"Yes. Apparently, it is Samuel's 'spring vacation' from his education. The three of them have decided to spend this weekend and part of the week here at the base." I nodded, eye still locked on the medic's back plates as he continued to stare at the computer.

"What is this about the residue?" Finally, the wizened blue optics of Ratchet met my single golden-amber eye.

"I am not sure," he told me truthfully.

"Is it harmful?"

"I do not believe so."

"Will any Autobots or Decepticons be able to pick it up?"

"Not unless they have a medical scanner."

"So I am still as relatively safe as I was before you discovered it, am I correct?"

"I suppose…"

"Good. Now, if you are quite done with my physical, I shall take my leave, then." I put my prosthetics back on, stood, and walked to the small elevator that was on the side of the medical berth. I took it down, and once on the floor, confidently strode out of the back room. All the while, I could feel the surprised, gaping stare from Ratchet on my back. "Thank you, sir," I called over my shoulder before I passed through the human-sized door, but I didn't wait for his response.

I was looking forward to the next few quiet days before Bumblebee and his charges came. However, my dreams were dashed as soon as I stepped into the hanger where I was going to meet my guardian and Jazz for a ride before lunch and our shifts.

"This is completely ridiculous!" shouted an angry voice, masculine in origin. "Letting a _woman_ onto the battlefield! Are you just that stupid!"

"No, he's just that smart," I said in my normal voice, struggling to keep my expression blank and my voice calm. A man, about ten to 20 years my senior, stood on the catwalk in front of Prowl, Jazz, and Optimus Prime. He was in a dark grey suit, with light to medium brown hair that was beginning to bald on the sides. He also wore glasses and had a briefcase at his feet. All faces turned to me as I walked to my guardian's side and he placed me on the catwalk to the right of the man. "And who exactly are you?"

"I'm Director Galloway," he introduced himself, but didn't stick out his hand for me to shake. I wouldn't have taken it, anyways.

"When I want to know who you are, it is highly suggested that you give me your _full_ name," I almost growled.

"Director Theodor Galloway," he amended, and he missed the smug glints in the optics of the three towering Autobots.

"Okay then, _Director_," I nearly spat the title. Normally, I don't make judgments so soon after meeting someone, but this man was already making a bad impression. His face scrunched up a bit at the tone I purposely-let slip. "Mind telling me why you are shouting at these guys?"

"And who exactly are _you_?" he snapped, but he didn't scare me.

"That's a need-to-know, and you don't need to know. Answer my question." No politeness anymore, just harsh words that were laced with the promise of physical pain. I may be a Marine, serving under the great Red, White, and Blue, but no one messes with this family.

Wait…_family_?

"Actually, I am, so tell me who you are right now, or I'll have you thrown out onto the streets faster than you can say…"

"Shut…up," I growled lowly, causing all noises in the hanger to cease. I was vaguely aware that we were drawing a crowd at the door and hanger opening, but my concern wasn't with them. Meanwhile, Galloway looked absolutely flabbergasted that I, a mere _solider_, had just told him to shut his mouth. "Listen closely, _Director_," I spat his title once more, "If Prime and Prowl want to put a woman on the battlefield, they must have a good reason for doing so. She's got to be better than good, in great physical condition, and able to take crap and dish it back. Do _not_ try to undermine their authority, because they are probably your only defense against many angry Autobots who want nothing more than to squish you. Know your place, _Director_, because we certainly know ours."

The man stood there, mouth agape, as did the others. With a final nod to my guardian and his leader, I walked down the steps and went outside so I could cool off. I was about to rip the ignorant head off of that…that…darn, there isn't even an insult in the world that can describe that guy.

My new cell phone buzzed, capturing my attention from mentally beating sense into Galloway. I took it out of my pocket and answered.

"Colonel Kalu."

"Did you, at any time, see Prowl's spark?" It was Ratchet who asked me.

"Why?" That was one question I hated with a passion, but I wasn't about to let any potential sensitive information slip. Ingrained habit, you know.

"I managed to identify the spark residue left on your body, and it matches perfectly with Prowl's. Did you ever come in contact with his spark?"

"Yes," I answered truthfully, since there was no reason to lie. "For reasons I will not discuss, he showed me his spark and he let me touch it. There was no risk to either of us, otherwise I would have not done so." Ratchet then warned me about doing it again, not for Prowl's medical protection, but he didn't want another anomaly like this again. I did not promise anything, but hung up instead.

Brothers and sisters share secrets don't they? That's what we were doing. Just being a semi-normal brother and sister.

Galloway has now been introduced, and we all _really like_ him, don't we? So, now Thana's been with the Autobots for two months, thinks of the Autobots as her family, and has a brother-sister relationship with Prowl. I'll have more character development in the next chapter or the one after that. However, the pace will pick up, so bear with me. Stay positive, my readers, because there will be some big action coming up. You may not like it, but if you don't, that's fine by me. It's your opinion and I respect that. I'll try to get another up soon, but I'm not going to promise or guarantee anything. Have a great day everybody!


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Otherwise…well, considering I wouldn't have Jazz die in the 2007 movie, I don't know how much money I would've made. But I love that mech, because he's awesome. Such a little kid answer, I know, but I could care less. Enjoy the next chapter.

_**Chapter 8**_

I discreetly looked around the large table that I sat on, calculating the mechs sitting around me. Prowl was impassive, Bluestreak's doorwings were fluttering ever so slightly, Smokescreen had a certain glint in his ocean blue optics, Jazz was holding back a scowl, Sideswipe was questioningly staring at his hand, and Sunstreaker appeared to be very close to blowing something up. All these little tells would help me determine if I had to throw in the towel or not.

"Ah fold," Jazz grouched, tossing the cards into the middle of the table by the enlarged chips. I forced the smirk threatening to overtake my features back. Evening poker games were quite amusing at times.

"Same," Sideswipe stated, and Sunstreaker repeated the gesture, leaning back in his large chair and crossing his arms angrily.

"I see Smokescreen, and raise it ten," I said, throwing in the appropriate chips. Prowl, Bluestreak, and Smokescreen replicated, and we all stared at one another. This was the last hand before we were going to go to bed/recharge. "Let's see them." We all placed our cards onto the table.

Smokescreen had the lowest of us, having a straight. Then it was Prowl, holding a full house, Bluestreak with a four of a kind, but I won. I had straight flush with the spades. All the mechs groaned.

"I swear that you cheat," Smokescreen muttered, but it was good-natured. I gave him a look that clearly read, 'Really?'

"Smokescreen, I've been playing poker since I was two. You just can't beat this," I teased, getting a smile from everyone.

"Colonel, do you think you could teach me how to play like you? I mean, Smokey's a good teacher and all, but you're really good. I don't know how you keep winning. What's your secret? Do you have one?" Bluestreak rambled as the three brothers and I began to put the game away. The twins and Jazz had left already, needing to get up early for shifts.

"When I can find the time, I'd be more than happy to teach you," I gently cut into his endless talk. I had learned early that if not stopped, he could keep talking until Ratchet had to knock him into recharge. "I'm quite busy, but I'll try to find some time. Okay?" The mostly grey sniper nodded eagerly, and Smokescreen put the box away. I stepped onto Prowl's offered servo, and we bade each other good nights before all exiting the rec room.

"Did you ever have any siblings?" Prowl asked me as we both did our evening rituals. I pulled the shirt over me head before turning to look at the one I now thought of as my brother. His golden-amber optics, the exact same shade as my eye, sparkled with curiosity. It would only be fair to talk about my life.

I had learned the previous night that Prowl was the oldest of the three Praxians here on the base. Smokescreen was the middle child, with Bluestreak being the youngest. Their carrier, a femme by the name of Softspeed, had a light grey and vibrant pink plating scheme. Their creator, a burly, azure, black, and dark grey mech went by the name Spock. He had been an Enforcer, the police of Cybertron, while Softspeed was a stay-at-home femme.

"No," I answered by guardian and brother. "My parents never actually planned to have me. They were in the middle of a warzone. Both had been disowned by their families, and were only a year and a quarter into their marriage when they found out about me. But, because they both hated taking an innocent life, they kept me, and once said to me that it had to have been one of the smartest decisions of their entire lives."

"Why were they disowned?" We walked back to the sleeping quarters of our dorm, and I sat on my bed, taking off my fake legs.

"Well, my mother was disowned by her tribe because she married someone out of her race. You are never supposed to marry someone who isn't a Navajo, unless it is because of a peace treaty, or of the sort. My father…they absolutely hated my mother. She was complete opposite of him. Where he was quiet, she was loud. He loved technology, but she loathed it. He was quick to temper, but it would diminish as soon as it flared. However, it took a bit to get my mother riled up, but once it was done, it was like trying to contain a raging wildfire: almost impossible." Prowl nodded, climbing onto his enlarged berth.

"What were their designations?" the black and white asked. But the simple question caused me to pause. I hadn't uttered, or even thought of their names since my mother died. And that was when I was ten, about two decades ago.

"Lieutenant Iina Kalu, United States Navy," I choked out. "And Lieutenant Commander Bhekizitha Kalu, United States Navy. Her name means 'life,' while his means 'watches for the enemy.' She was a nurse stationed with the SEAL unit he was in."

"What does Thana mean?" A question meant to distract me from my distress, and I couldn't help but flash him a tiny, grateful smile. But it didn't last long, when I recalled the meaning of my name.

"Death," I answered somberly. My brother's helm cocked to the side a bit, a sign that he was researching something. I don't know what he was looking up, but I waited calmly until he finished.

"In our language, it means 'the bravest of mechs.'" My look of shocked surprise had been enough to send him into a round of gentle chuckles. "Yes, it does." My eye unfocused as I processed the information. In Cybertronian, my name was one of bravery, instead of in Navajo, meaning of death. I had never thought of it in terms of another, strange language. But the mood sobered as soon as he asked another question, one that I knew he had been dreading bringing up, but had to know the answer to. "What happened to them?"

"They died," I whispered, just loud enough so his audios could pick it up. "My…my father was shot on a mission…" I took a deep breath to regain myself. "And my mother…her heart just gave up on her. She lasted another three years…but even I wasn't enough to anchor her…"

For the first time, instead of me comforting Prowl because of decisions that ended up wrong or of the kind, it was he who began to whisper soothing nothings into my ears. He held me to his exposed spark, and I felt wave after wave of wonderful sensations begin to flow through my body. And for the first time in so long, so long that I couldn't even remember, I felt completely safe.

And I never wanted to let it go.

After I had calmed down a bit, Prowl told me stories of him and his brothers when they were young. He told me of their hometown, Praxus, what life was like before the war, and how they all joined the Autobots. Apparently, stickler-for-the-rules Prowl actually pulled pranks when he was a youngling! I had stared at him, slack-jawed, for a good minute or two before composing myself.

In return, I told him of life on multiple bases, funny things I had done, and so on. I didn't talk about after or right before my father died, and my guardian didn't push me to. For that, I was thankful.

We talked and talked into the early morning hours, before I fell asleep on his chassis, right above his now-hidden spark. He had fallen into recharge with a clawed servo covering my body, cupping me gently. And for the first time in about two decades, I had a sleep that wasn't plagued by nightmares.

_Okay, I hope you liked the slower chapter. I felt I needed a bit more character development, since I had previously mentioned that Thana felt like the Autobots, specifically the Praxians, were her family. Lots of thanks to _**Alathea2**_ for helping me come up with ideas for this chapter._

_I'm sorry it took longer than normal, but I was having major trouble. But never fear, for _**Alathea2**_ was there. _

_**Slight Spoiler Alert: If you don't want to see it, don't look.**_

_Next few chapters aren't going to be easy-going or nice in any sort of way. I just want to prepare you for the dangers that lie ahead, because they will most likely be pretty gruesome. _


	10. Chapter 9

Not much to say right now except that I don't own Transformers or anything related to it. I'm sure I'll think of something at the end of the chapter, but it can wait for now. For now, though, enjoy.

_**Chapter 9**_

Slowly and painfully, I opened my eye, taking a look around where I was. I was in a dark cell, quite injured, and couldn't see much because it was so dark. How did I get here? And then it all came rushing back to me.

_After that one night, Prowl and I made an unspoken deal to talk every night before we tucked ourselves in for the night. Occasionally, we had Smokescreen and Bluestreak accompany us, but it was mostly just my guardian and I._

_It was 19:26 when the alarms blared across the _Ark_, closely followed by Red Alert's voice informing us as to where the Decepticons were attacking. We gathered our weapons and ran to the transport room. This was a room constructed while still on Cybertron by the Chief Engineer, Wheeljack. A swirling green vortex formed when Red Alert pulled a lever. This was a ground-bridge, which could transport us anywhere on Earth. It certainly saved a lot of time._

_I rode in Prowl's alt mode, and the other Autobots were also in their alt modes. The team consisted of Prowl, Jazz, Bluestreak, Skyfire, Ratchet, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Ironhide, and Optimus Prime, because Megatron had been spotted amongst his minions. As soon as we were all through, the ground-bridge was hastily cut off and disappeared into nothing. _

_I darted from my guardian's alt mode, so he could transform with the others. Immediately, Bluestreak ran for high ground, because being a sniper, you had the best advantage over the enemy by being higher. Skyfire took to the sky, peppering the Decepticon grounders. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe took off with whoops of joy, like one would shout when they won the Olympics or something. I swear I saw the Seeker, Starscream, shudder in the air as the yells reached his audios. Ironhide began to blow things up, simple as that. Optimus ran out to meet and grapple with his brother. _

_Ratchet also had some distance firing training in him, so he wasn't actively in the heart of the battle. He would only go into it if one of the Autobots got injured and needed him. Prowl and Jazz fought back to back, the other having strength when one faltered. _

_I, myself, had ducked behind one of the sand dunes that blanketed the Sahara Desert. The harsh sun beat down on us, adding stress to the already hard-working bots. With practiced ease, I forced back my discomfort and sighted in on the Combiners when they tried to do as their name suggests. One by one, they fell permanently offline. Unless the Decepticons had a shard of the AllSpark that we didn't know of, there was no way they could come back to the land of the living. Or unless their entity granted them another chance at life. _

_We fought for what seemed like an eternity. But I felt a presence behind me, and turned to face it. But even with that scorching sun beating down on me, the blood in my veins froze at the sight of a single reddish gold optic. _

Shockwave._ Oh, Prowl's going to hate me for doing this, I thought to myself. Without giving any warning to the crude scientist, I whipped around, shooting a sabot round right into that ugly optic of his. His roar of pain was just loud enough to cause every Cybertronian to turn and look for the source. _

I don't remember much of what happened after that. I think one of his little creations came and attacked me, and I fought back. Maybe that's why I still had a decent chunk of armor gripped in one of the hands suspended above my head.

Knocking that train of thought off of its tracks, I began to assess my wounds. I had numerous lacerations, varying in length and depth. Most had clotted, but a few still oozed blood in small trickles. My prosthetics were gone, the stubs throbbing agonizingly. Various bones were, with no doubt, broken or fractured in some way, leaving me in an all-too familiar world of white-hot pain.

For crying out loud, I felt worse at this moment than I had my entire five-year stay in the Ethiopian base as a POW. And that was saying something.

The beat of unfamiliar pedes sounded outside the room and stopped. A door slid open, revealing an outline of a large mech and one glowing optic. Shockwave again. I was so dead.

He came closer to my cell, which I realized was more like a birdcage to them. If anyone says that my brother is emotionless, I'll be more than happy to show him or her a picture of this mech. No noise, other than Shockwave's systems, permeated the tense silence that reigned over the brig. We stared each other down, sizing the other up, trying to figure each other out.

"Prisoner: Wounded." Even his voice was absolutely devoid of emotion! Sure, I had heard the same kind of tone from Prowl when his emotional center is turned 'off,' but it never cut into me almost like a real, physical knife. Great assessment, idiot, I sarcastically said in my mind. Outwardly, nothing changed in my defiant expression. "Conclusion: Won't harm experiment."

That didn't sound good…

As he stepped away from the birdcage of a cell, and turned the lights on by a command, my heart nearly stopped in my chest. This wasn't a brig…it was a mad scientist's lab, a torture chamber. Large pieces of machinery and equipment laid around the room in an order that only Shockwave could understand.

But what stood out to me were the two tables, various wires and tubes all round them. The smaller table looked like it had been specially crafted to fit for me. Not the kind of endearment I would expect from Decepticons.

I blame my father for my sarcastic nature.

However, the other, much larger table already held a body. The bare protoform of a bot, and by the look of it, it appeared to be female-like. A femme. But I thought they were almost an extinct frame type? Where would the red optics acquire one? Or did they build it? Too many questions, not enough answers.

There were no special or attractive features to the protoform. Actually, that was just like me. I wasn't overly beautiful, but not an unattractive person, either. I was just normal.

As I continued to stare at the machinery, the protoform of a femme, and the empty table, something clicked in my tired, over-worked brain. My mind jumped to the little bits of a conversation I had overheard almost five months ago, on my first mission. That was back when Jazz and I had infiltrated the _Nemesis_, and I had heard something like 'human' and 'experiment.' And now they had a test subject.

Oh crap. Not good.

Shockwave strode up to the small barred gate that was the door to freedom, or certain death. He had rearranged some of the machinery, some of it now closer to the two tables and console that stood in front of the slabs.

Mindful of his sharp talons, and the fact that I was already too injured to do much anyways, I didn't move a muscle as he grabbed me and took me over to the smaller inclined table. I was strapped into it, from bleeding head to aching stubs. Without waiting for any more time to pass, wires and tubes were painfully stuck into my body. I unconsciously arched away from the new intrusions, but it did not deter my captor. I bit my lip so hard to keep from screaming in agony that I bit right through, blood pouring down my chin, dropping onto my stained and shredded clothing.

The femme was already hooked up previously, and the evil scientist walked behind the console, typing in who-knew-what, pressing buttons, and things of that sort. It felt like forever before that single optic locked with my single eye.

"Prisoner: To receive new body. Purpose: New weapon of war." Mass destruction. Put the Autobots through emotional and physical…well, a bad word…this would completely crush them. They had trusted me, cared for me…maybe even loved me. And now, becoming nothing more than a mindless drone, becoming a weapon of war, it would end the war, in the Decepticon's favor.

Without further ado, a lever was pushed up and all I knew was blinding pain. For once, even with all those years of training and previous torture, I screamed. I screamed so loud that I was sure that I shattered Shockwave's audios. It felt like electricity was pulling my body apart. It was on fire! I burned, but at the same time, I froze. Bones loudly snapped apart, muscles tore, and my lungs felt like they could burst. My heart clenched in pain, writhing in on itself. And still I screamed.

… … … …

**Systems check: 100% functional**

**Weapons check: No weapons found**

**Warnings: None**

"Ugh…" My head throbbed, like someone was using it as a drum. So many other 'checks' came up in my dark vision, but everything read good. All systems were green and were a go. Wait a second…systems? When did I refer to my internal organs as systems? And why are these messages popping up in my vision? What the heck just happened?!

"New Decepticon: Designation: WOMD-1," said a voice in the most boring monotone I had ever heard. And that name just doesn't do it for me. WOMD? Really? Nothing cool, like Black Dawn or Silent Stalker, or something like that? Just WOMD? Boring!

"What does WOMD mean?" I asked, not bother to do anything else but move my mouth to formulate the question.

"Abbreviation: Weapon of Mass Destruction." I'm a weapon? I don't think I like to be used like that.

"What is my purpose as a WOMD?" At last, I opened my eyes to look at the one I was talking to. He had a single optics, with black and purple plating.

"Purpose: Extermination of Autobots." And I had no reaction. What is wrong? I felt like two forces were battling inside of me. Brain fought heart. What's going on here?

… … … …

_And so ends another chapter of _Shadows and Gold_. I hope you enjoyed it and I would love it if you left your comments in the reviews. I know, this chapter was longer than the others, but I couldn't just leave it off where I had originally wanted to. Anyways, have a good day everyone, and I'll try to update soon!_


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Simple as that. I just don't. I noticed that some people liked the longer chapter, so I will try and continue that trend. If you have any ideas, I'll be willing to read them, and might even use them. I will give you credit. Read and review please.

_**Chapter 10**_

After the mech with one optic left, I had fallen back into recharge. But I awoke not a few minutes later, optics brightening quickly. It was then that I noticed something had changed, and I looked down at my body.

Metal, tubes, wiring; it all ran under smaller, lighter plates that I remembered seeing on the mech. No, he had a name, one that I despised ever since…someone…told me about him. This mech, he had a name as cruel and cold as his spark: Shockwave.

But who told me about him? My memory was scrambled like eggs. It was so hard to remember anything before I had woken up. But I knew I was injured previously to waking up, so I continued my assessment.

My plating was gunmetal grey, with no colors bleeding into them. There were faint lines on my legs. One line on my right ran all the way around, just above my knee joint. There was another line on my left leg, but it was below the knee. I could only assume that these were scars, because my plating and everything else had so many little scars, occasionally accompanied by larger ones.

In the dark room, as I lifted a servo to my face, it was showered by a gentle golden-amber glow. The left side seemed to radiate more light than the right, which somewhat confused me. Unconsciously, as my processor…right, processor?...wandered, a servo rubbed my face. A deep scar, maybe going down halfway into the facial plating, ran from the left side of my fore-helm, across my right optic, down the cheek and neck, ending just below where my neck joined my torso.

When did I acquire this?

My helm began to heat slightly as a persistent ache formed behind my optics. Groaning softly, I laid back on the inclined slab of metal, powering down my optics and initiating recharge protocols.

… … … …

"WOMD: Wake," droned Shockwave's voice. I powered up automatically with rapid speed. His optic, a disgusting mix of dark yellow and blood red, shone with no emotion. Did he even have any? "Experiment: Successful. Additions: Supplied successfully."

I sat up, absently noticing that I wasn't restrained like before. My helm still ached and pounded, the vision in my right optic very fuzzy, and my legs felt weird, like I hadn't walked in a really long time.

"What are the additions?" I asked Shockwave. It felt wrong to converse with him like it was nothing, but at the same time, it felt okay. I held no pleasant feelings, mind you, it was just like he was there and I could care less.

"Additions: Weapons. Types: Two swords, two blasters, sniping blaster, and four daggers."

"When am I going to get armor?"

"Time: Now. Additions: Reinforced and easy to shift. Specialties: Sorcel and three alternate modes." What was 'sorcel'? And why would I get three alt modes instead of one? This was all very confusing, and I wanted to voice my questions, but instead swallowed them. I could tell that question time was over, as I shakily stood. Why did my legs feel so strange? It was as if hadn't put weight on the actual limbs in so long. Where those weird, circular scars were, one above and another below my knees, that's when the feeling came into play.

I followed Shockwave out of the laboratory and down the dark, menacing hallway. If I were any lesser of a femme, I would've quaked under my thin plates. Faded blue stains could be seen every now and again, whether it be on the floors or walls, and once in a great while, on the high ceiling. Deep gouges in the walls hadn't been patched, leaving the once-smooth surface rough and jagged. On the floors, however, those had been fixed, probably so no one tripped as they walked or ran through the hall. Dents only accentuated and finished the picture. Sometimes, they were just small, little things, some were larger, and every now and again, there was a full body imprint on the metal walls.

The walk was down some abandoned hallways, and took us a little bit to reach. Shockwave typed a password into the keypad and it slid open silently. I followed the black and purple mech inside and was ordered to lie on a table, now in a horizontal position. He audibly locked the entrance and came over to me. Strips of strong, heavy metal were placed just so on the table, opened wide. The Cyclops of a mech walked around the table and me, adjusting my limbs so I fit, and clamping down the restraints.

After that was complete, the real work began. He didn't speak in his boring, monotone way, instead opting to let his actions speak for themselves. I'm not exactly sure what he did, because I was too focused on keeping a straight face with all the pain coursing through my body and holding back anything and everything that was between a whimper and a scream.

I wasn't sure how long it took, but after a bit, he left, only to return with a cube full of glowing pink liquid. He force-fed it to me, which made a smoldering hate inside me grow just a bit more. After the liquid was drained inside of me, I felt my systems happily agreeing with it. It could be normal and safe, but it could also be a slow-acting poison. That's happened before to me.

Wait…it has? When? I stifled a groan as my spark felt like it wanted to shout something to my processor, but I couldn't make any sort of connection. You know how your throat gets raw and dry after you shout so much? Well, the feeling was like that, only it was centered in my life-sustaining spark.

"WOMD: Activate weapons one by one," droned a familiar voice, and I was getting so annoyed by it, I felt like ripping his vocal capacitor out. I'm sure everyone would appreciate that.

Still, I heeded the order, onlining my array of weapons one by one. My duel swords were thick and heavy, but the weight was distributed in a way that it would be incredibly easy for me to swing it. The broad side could be used for smashing a face in, while the double-edged blades could slice cleanly into thick armor. The blasters also formatted into the arsenal could generate a powerful blast, as I tested out on a drone that came up and began to clean something on the floor. The blast completely decimated it. Next, I looked at my daggers. They weren't activated by a simple thought command, but were instead installed on special grips that would be hidden on my waist when I got my battle armor. Lastly, there was the sniper blaster. The barrel was long and would be attached to my back, but could easily be swung in front of me if need be. The end of the barrel held something that looked like a silencer, and I briefly thought of where I had heard that word, used in that context, before.

Shifting the long blaster onto my back, I turned to face Shockwave, looking him right in the optic. One would've thought he would've nodded, or shown some emotion, but he didn't even move. He just stood there, that calculating optic looking into my own two, as if he was trying to read the very secrets of my life on my soul.

"WOMD: Come." He suddenly turned, keying open the door and I kept up with his long strides surprisingly well, considering he was much taller than I. We continued down the hall, going through another door not that far from the last. However, when we entered, we were not alone. There stood a flyer, something inside me supplied the correct answer: Seeker. He had a lot of a harsh grey plating, with the tiniest bits of blue, purple, and even a little green that accented his winged frame.

"Ah, Shockwave. Come here with our guest for the armor?" I barely managed to keep from wincing. His voice was deep, but high at the same time, and had an awful screeching quality to it. He, too, needed a change of voice.

"Starscream: Armor WOMD. Shockwave: Return at your call." The mech with one optic turned and left the Seeker and I alone in the room. Along with my slowly fueled hate burning for Shockwave, another started up for Starscream immediately. I don't know why, but I knew that he wasn't one of my friends, not one I could trust, just like the scientist.

He ordered me to lie on the berth, as he called it, and strapped me securely to it. The process of putting the thick armor hurt like crap, but I didn't whine about it. Oddly, the feeling of armor settling itself onto my body felt familiar, comfortable even. And throughout the entire procedure, much to my growing annoyance, Starscream rambled on and on. He was _so_ much better than their _glorious_ leader. He _should_ be leader of the Decepticons. _He_ would bring them to victory over the Autobots.

I briefly wondered how fast I could hit him in the helm to get him to shut up. But I was carefully restrained and while I could probably get out, I had a feeling he would just make my audios hurt even more.

After what seemed like centuries, he finished putting the final piece of armor on my pede, smiling sadistically. I wonder if his smile would be creepier than if Shockwave actually _did_ smile…nah, Shockwave's would be much worse. The 'mad scientist,' where had I heard that before, came and collected me, not once uttering a word. But the command to follow was left unsaid, and still I knew I had to.

I still wasn't sure what was going on, and my spark continued to yell up to my processor. It wanted to say something, pass something along, but it couldn't reach it. Like the signal was scrambled or something.


	12. Chapter 11

First, I don't own anything. Second, updates will have more time in between them. I now have an awesome beta **Athena2**, and hopefully, together, we can make better, more interesting chapters. Next, I forgot to state this a while ago, I think, but Thana isn't a Navajo name. It's Greek, but the meaning is still the same. Hey, this is fiction, so I can make her name whatever I want it to be.

Warning: This chapter contains very, very graphic material that is incredibly unsuitable for young children. Please be advised.

_**Chapter 11**_

I was standing out on the island, visor covered optics turned towards the darkening sky. I could hear rumbles coming from the ominous clouds; brief flashes of light lighting up the blackness that started to cover up the twinkling stars. I was glad they were disappearing; they only served as a reminder. It was like they were taunting me for my failure at an Autobot, as an unofficial guardian, as a friend.

The whole base, not just myself, was dampened by grief. Colonel Thana Kalu was gone…For three Earth weeks, we all grew so worried. The last time we laid an optic on the brave little human femme was the last battle with the Cons.

Everyone had turned when Shockwave cried out in anger and pain. But no one, not even me, was fast enough to save her. Ravage had leapt from behind the one-optic Con, attacking our little 'mascot,' whatever that is. All of the Autobots abandoned their fights, racing towards Thana. But the feline-like Con had grabbed her and took off. We tried to follow, to get her back…but it was all in vain.

... ... ... ...

Prowler and I had planned for so many Earth hours and days on end. We would send someone out to the Decepticon base, or sit at his desk, mulling over what we could do. I knew that my best friend had viewed Thana as a sister. I'm not sure if he thinks of her as an older or younger sibling, but the fact remained, that they were as close as two could get without being related by energon.

I sent spies, even went myself, to the Con base down in Antarctica. But we couldn't find neither clothing nor hair of Thana. What they had done to her, we could only hope that it hadn't come true. I had seen what they do to prisoners, and I knew what it felt like, being in their clutches more times than I care to remember. Unconsciously, a servo traced along the faint scar that was left by ol' Megs ripping me apart. I desperately hoped that she didn't reach the same fate that had befallen me, before I was brought back.

Using a human expression that I learned from Captain Lennox, the Cons were 'tight-lipped' about what they had done to Thana. But Prowl and I were beginning to suspect that the Cons had another base somewhere that we didn't know about. Several mechs were missing from the normal roster, including Starscream, several dozen drones, and others. I had Mirage, Bumblebee, Hound, and me all go in, looking for information on where this new, unconfirmed base was. That's where she had to be. She just had to be.

But for so long we searched, never coming up with anything. Days would trickle by, hope fading slowly. She was a mere human; she would never be able to survive any 'tests' that Shockwave could cook up in his crooked processor. Even though we had almost no hope left, we still tried to believe that she was alive, that she escaped, that nothing had been done to her fragile little body.

On the fourth week…that day will forever haunt my spark for as long as I function. Mirage burst into my office where I had been hunched over battle plans. We needed an advantage over the Cons, but I just couldn't find it. It was probably right in front of my optics, and I still couldn't see it!

"Jazz!" Mirage hastily palmed the sliding door open, vents running at a rapid pace to cool his frame. I looked up, servos unconsciously clenching hard onto the datapad I was holding. The frame of it began to bend ever so slightly. "We got a Decepticon signal!" His noble optics held despair, but now, hope glittered ever so softly. I stood up, gripping the datapad harder.

I had raced out of the office, nearly throwing Mirage into the wall, coming awfully close to running into a few walls along the way. Because of the strength, the hidden sorrow that had built itself up in my spark and frame, the datapad screen cracked, but I didn't slow.

A sighting had been reported that one Con was in the Sahara again, and we all wanted to go. But because there was only one, we sent four instead of every mech that was ready to rip the enemy a new aft. Prowler, Sunny, Sides, and me were the ones to go back to the exact place where we last set our optical sensors on Thana.

By the time were there, stepping through the ground bridge, there was no one. The Con had taken off, or was hiding somewhere. We were pumped up with raw fury, wanting to make the Decepticons pay for what they may or may have not done to our friend and sister. All that was left, though, was a crate. On the side of the metal container read Prowl's designation. So, while the twins scanned the area, just to make sure we were as safe as we could get while exposed, I checked it for any bombs or something. Deeming it clean, I stepped back while the Praxian went to open it.

Unlocking it, he lifted the lid, only to freeze. I was sure he was on the border of crashing, but as he later told me, he had just frozen up. A while ago, Thana had told me one time when she had froze because of something. She said it was when she was a little girl, and that her carrier had caught her doing something she shouldn't been doing, but that was the only time it happened to her.

"Prowler?" I had hesitantly called to the black and white. He didn't respond, still staring into the metal crate. So, in my 'typical' fashion, as Thana had once said, I walked up without thinking about the consequences.

Only now, I don't think I should've.

Inside, lying in so many parts was Thana. Her arms and her short, stubby legs (when did she suddenly have short legs?) were separated from her body. Her head was obviously disconnected. Her body was covered in innumerable holes and gashes. Blood filled the bottom, softly lapping at her limp body. But it was her expression that had me freezing up, too.

Normally, her features were calm and cool, just like Prowl's, but she had this certain twinkle in her one golden-amber eye when she had done something mischievous. It wasn't often that one got to see it, but if you did…I can't explain it. My spark warmed and melted at it, or when she had that little half-smirk. But I went absolutely liquid when she actually smiled. Not a smirk, but her brief, but stunningly beautiful smile.

The day I had been first introduced to that smile was one of the best in my existence to date. Thana had been at the base for only a week, but already had every mech, myself happily included, wrapped around her itty-bitty finger. She and I were sitting on the roof of the _Ark_, watching the sun slowly set in the distance, much like she and Prowl always did. But he was gone at an important meeting at a pentagonal building out on the East coast of the continental United States.

"Wha' organic do ya think Ah would be?" I asked her. Earlier, before Captain Lennox and Ironhide had left, the mech human had told me that he thought his guardian, if an organic, would be one of those bulls other humans used for bull fighting. Slowly, with a curious thing called an 'eyebrow' perked up as she turned to look at me. Her eye calculated me, and I waited somewhat patiently until she made her decision.

"A Bottlenose Dolphin," she answered, but when I asked her elaborate, she didn't. But a small smile graced her organic features, and I swear my spark stuttered in its casing at the sight.

Now, though, it was contorted in a way that screamed absolute agony. My ventilations hitched, my processor screeching to a halt. Her long, dark brown hair, usually pulled back in what she called a 'ponytail,' was filthy with her life-sustaining blood, dirt, and was crudely cut, but it looked like it had been burnt. The 'dog tags,' as she told me that's what they were called, hung limply from her extended neck. They were soaked in her red blood, scratched, dented, and slightly charred. Her skin, what she called a dirty copper color, was now paled, and almost unrecognizable under the many lacerations she sported. Two metal, complex-looking poles were rusting alongside her mutilated body. But what killed me the most was that eye.

Once, it had sparkled with life. However, it was open and dull. Still, the ever-expressive human femme she was, even if she didn't know it, there was a hint of…something in her eye. Fear, most definitely. Anger, oh yes. But…determination…that was also there. What had made her so determined?

... ... ... ...

Ever since that day, a metaphorical cloud had hung above every mech's helm. We couldn't save Thana. We were too late.

I hadn't noticed before what my spark had screaming at me. And now, I felt like a fool. Turning my visor to the darkening horizon, smelling the scent of rain from my upgraded olfactory sensors, I heaved a sigh. No, now it was too late. I missed out on my chance. I'm not sure what caused the change in my spark, and I can't define it. It's not love, not yet, but something more than friendship.

I'm so sorry, lil' femme. I never told you. I'm so sorry…


	13. Chapter 12

Hope you all enjoyed the last one. Yes, it was graphic and really sad, but I felt as if you needed to see how Thana's absence was affecting the Autobots. Okay – I don't own anything and enjoy.

_**Chapter 12**_

This was the 42-nd training session with the ever-observant Shockwave. He was a cruel teacher, I quickly learned, after the first spar.

_I was ordered to stand in the middle of the sparring room, nothing emitting from the holographic transmitter, which would otherwise make the room appear to be whatever you wanted it to be. As he circled me, I felt an invisible force overtake my motor functions, which was one of the worst feelings I had ever experienced, outside of any kind of pain._

_With silent orders that I was helpless to resist, I was forced to stand still as he continued to circle me. A while ago, Starscream had to install wings on my back, so I could have a Seeker as well as a grounder alt mode. These wings, I learned, were almost always moving, and I had a faint knowledge of someone who could hold them still. I had trained myself to hold them absolutely still, which I had only recently mastered._

_Now, though, they were forced into a position that I instinctively knew made them vulnerable to any kind of attack. When Shockwave forced them that way, I knew pain was part of this 'spar.' Yeah, some spar when you can't defend yourself or go on the offensive. Even with my wings immobilized, I could _feel_ the mech moving. So I knew exactly when and where he had stopped, turning fully to my back. Slowly, he walked up behind me and, servo reached out, claws digging into my sensitive wings. _

_I wanted to scream, but I tramped it down. Somewhere, deep in my processor, I knew I possessed the training for not yelling in agony, but I just couldn't put my digit on it!_

I had survived the torture, otherwise known as training. From then on, every session included pain inflicted by drones that I fought against or from Shockwave. The second session had mostly centered on me learning how to fly under the scrutinizing optics of Starscream and Shockwave. The scientists obviously enjoyed watching me learn, which consisted mostly of me ramming into the walls, denting them harshly.

However, I was nothing if not a fast learner. If I wasn't, well…I'm _positive_ that I wouldn't have lasted as long as I did. And after the first dozen 'spars,' Shockwave started to lessen his tight hold on my basic motor functions. From then on, I started to fight on my own, taking all my anger, if not a bit of sorrow, out on the sparkless drones always sent my way while in the training room.

I didn't realize that time was up until no more drones showed themselves before my one bright optic and one dimmed. I still didn't know why all these faint scars adorned my protoform, why a large scar marred my faceplate, or why I was nearly blind in my right optic. These were just more questions added to the ever growing list that found no answers. Shockwave ordered me back to my small quarters, which seemed more like a supply closet than anything else.

… … … …

:: Order: Report to debriefing room. :: came the comm message from Shockwave, holder of my invisible, tight leash.

:: Acknowledged. :: I sent back, also in monotone, somewhat to show the one-optic mech that he wasn't that scary. I'm not afraid of this evil scientist, but more of concerned of what he is capable of. I walked through the halls, wings held proud, despite my dismal situation that I was in. I still didn't know how I ended up here in this obviously underwater base, if a dripping Starscream was anything to go off of.

I entered the debriefing room, being met with the stoic expression of Shockwave and the slightly peeved aura of Starscream. My golden-amber optics gave nothing away as I gazed at them.

"You're getting your first mission, _femme_, so listen carefully," snarled the Seeker, crimson optics glowing with repressed anger. What got his wires in a knot?

"Mission: Fight with Autobots, get captured," started Shockwave. He went on to tell me that the Decepticons were going to start a battle with the Autobots. However, I was to be purposely captured by them. From then, I would have to wait for an opportunity to escape from their clutches and retrieve all information I could find on them. I had to get all battle plans, personal information, everything. Then I was to sneak out of the base and report back here and give it all to Shockwave. The leash that was around my throat, attached to the purple and black mech, didn't allow me to back out of this mission. So, I instead nodded determinably. It was a good thing he couldn't read my thoughts, otherwise he would've known that I was going to change my plans, if need be.

… … … …

We had ended up in a very desolate place, dunes of whitish-yellow grains of…something surrounding us. And by us, I mean myself, Starscream, dozens of drones, some mechs that I didn't have designations to add to faceplates, and the leader of the Decepticons, Megatron. And as soon as Starscream vented his frustrations to the titanic mech, ending up being slapped around a bit, a swirling mass of green, blue, yellow, and pink showed itself a ways from us. Because I had been ordered by Shockwave to be able to match all faceplates to designations and some personal info, I knew everyone who ran out of the swirls.

First and foremost was the blue and red leader of the Autobots, Optimus Prime. Next was his Third in Command and Head of Special Operations, Jazz. He was followed by a set of red and yellow mechs, commonly known as the Terror Twins, but formally called Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Ironhide, the Weapons Specialist came out next, followed by the scout, Bumblebee, and the Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet.

Megatron and Prime exchanged some pre-battle babble before it actually started. Somehow, I ended up paired off with the silver saboteur, who was incredibly flexible and able to dodge my preliminary attacks. But that was me shooting the cannons on my shoulders, something I was unable to master in such a short time frame, given that I had so many other things that were taking my attention.

"Is that all you have?" I yelled, fluidly stepping away from his swinging short sword.

"Nah. Jus' warmin' up!" he shouted back, and I absently noticed he had a very heavily accented voice. He ducked my clenched fist, but my other one caught his side, denting the armor deeply. We had drawn energon almost as soon as our optics and, in his case, visor, met.

We continued to swing and miss or have it deflected. While it was painfully obvious that we had trained under different things, or so the hole in my side said, we were actually quite evenly matched. He kicked, and I deflected it. I swung my fist, and he ducked. It was annoying us both, but we were too well trained to let our emotions completely overtake our ferocious battle. Occasionally we did contact one another, and usually left a decent size mark in victory.

"Give it up!" he shouted, trying to taunt me, to get me out of my form. He was looking for an opening that wasn't there. "Ya can't best meh!" Something clicked inside my processor.

_A slap to the face; a punch to the gut. A hand forced my face up to meet his, my vision fuzzy with the head trauma I had received. His mud brown eyes glinted with amusement, bushy eyebrows narrowed. His wicked smile could send chills down most peoples' spines, but not me._

"_You think that you will win," he slurred, alcohol rolling off of his breath, and I had to resist cringing. His accent butchered the English words, but he was still surprising fluent in the language. "But you won't, my dear. You won't win. You can't best me." And that's when he sealed his fate, and my sharpened spoon met his jugular. _

"That's what you think!" I screamed in Jazz's faceplate, falling into a strange, but surprisingly familiar fighting stance. He didn't know what to think of the change, caught completely off-guard by it. My servos changed into the long swords I was becoming very attached to, swinging them so naturally, much more so than during all those sparring sessions with Shockwave.

I never saw the red and yellow twins behind me. But I did feel the heat of the blasts searing through my sensitive wings. I was brought to my knees by this new explosion of agony, blackness starting to close around my limited vision. My masked helm met the soft grains of the ground, my optics powering down along with the rest of my systems. A warning flashed across my line of sight just before everything went black: _Stasis Lock Imminent_.

End of Chapter

_Change of pace from everything else. A little memory coming back from Thana's time as a human definitely throws everything into haywire. And since she doesn't know this new fighting style that's so strange, yet so familiar, to her, I didn't give it a name. It will probably be some real cool kind of fighting, like Ninjutsu or something like that. Who knows. For know, just let your imagination wander. _

_And I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I've been super busy this last week, and more to come, so give me time, okay? I won't abandon this story, but I hope you understand life does get in the way a lot. Okay, have a great day everyone!_


	14. Chapter 13

I don't own anything. Not much else to say. Enjoy.

_**Chapter 13**_

"Ugh," I groaned, systems coming out of stasis. A clawed servo reached for my pounding helm, but it barely moved before stopping suddenly. My optics booted up so quickly, I almost thought something shorted out, but the blackness cleared from my vision. I looked down, only to find my arms and legs had been shackled to the wall. Panic threatened to overwhelm me, but I pushed it away, opting to survey my surroundings instead.

This brig that I was in was darkened, the only visible light emitting from near the doorway. Its glow was so weak, it just barely reached the bars of my cell, everything else thrown into the yawning black. The air seemed still, like there were no ventilations in this room, but the one outside my brig cell spoke otherwise. Why couldn't I feel any currents?

Wait…my wings! I turned my helm so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. They were still there, thank goodness, but the holes I had felt being created just before I went into stasis lock were patched over. It appeared to be crudely done, but the welds spoke of an experienced medic. Why would they capture me, only to fix me? It made no sense.

"You would've died otherwise," spoke a dangerously low voice so suddenly, I jumped a bit. It was only then that I realized I had voiced my question aloud. I looked over to the doorway, my golden-amber optics meeting the cerulean ones of two mechs. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, my processor supplied readily. I hid my growing discomfort as they sauntered over to the near impenetrable bars of my holding cell. The bright yellow twin had a feral snarl on his face, while his red counterpart had an almost amused atmosphere about him.

"I'm not giving you any information, guys," I coolly said, optics narrowing a fraction at the smirks appearing on their faceplates.

"We think you will, femme," Sideswipe replied, and I realized it had to have been his brother who announced their presence. "You 'Cons always give up information."

"Clearly, you've never dealt with me. I'm a tough one to crack." The red frontliner smirked once more while Sunstreaker remained impassive. He stood a little ways off, enough so one would forget about him, but close enough to step in at any time. His arms were crossed tightly over his chassis, lip plates pulled down in a severe scowl. Sideswipe pulled a chair over, draping himself over it, helm propped up on his servos. He continued to smirk, but it had a dangerous edge to it. It was good that I didn't scare easily.

"Ah, but you will," the one in front of me chuckled. "Your lot always does." Stop referring me to those sparkless pieces of…Calm down femme; don't let them get under your plating.

"I'm sure. That's why you won the war, am I right?" My comment had the desired effect. Both twins tensed, their expressions becoming downright murderous. Even the ever-joyful Sideswipe couldn't keep the red flecks out of his dark blue optics. Satisfied that they had finally learned that I wasn't one to mess with in verbal swordplay, I folded my wings behind my back and leaned against the cold metal wall.

But the silence didn't last as long as I had thought it would. Scooting his chair closer to the bars, Sideswipe began to interrogate me. Where was the 'Con's main base? What secrets were they hiding? Did they have any new plans of attack? Were there any weapons that the Autobots should know about? You know, the usual questions one expects when they are questioned. And I found it ironic when Sideswipe voiced that last question. I wanted to smirk in his faceplate and tell him he was looking at the newest weapon, but I held back.

"Do you know this mech?" Sideswipe questioned angrily, a hologram appearing on his side of the bars. It took all I had not to stiffen instinctively at the sight, even if it wasn't real. Next to the glossy red twin was a replica of Shockwave, and even his holographic optic seemed to pierce my very spark. I could almost feel the cold, unnerving feeling of when he turned off my motor functions and taught me 'a lesson.'

Even though I wanted to say yes, to ask him to keep me from ever returning, I remained silent. I never vocalized a word as both mechs asked their questions harshly, trying to get me to react. I wouldn't let them see me react, even if my life depended on it…well, I can't say that for sure, but that's beside the point.

Eventually, the silver saboteur practically pranced into the brig, relieving the other mechs of their useless, unproductive shift. As they left, the two shot me absolutely murderous glares, then turned, not looking back again. The door slid shut hard, making a slight 'bang.' That sound echoed in my processor. Jazz plopped himself into the abandoned chair, visor locked on my open optics. It appeared that he was studying me, but I was also doing the same.

My optics unabashedly roamed his sleek frame, and I knew he knew what I was doing, if his smirk was anything to go by. Just beneath his armor showed a very faint scar on his protoform, at his waist. I couldn't see where it began and where it ended, but if it was connected, that was one long memory.

All scars carry stories, memories. I don't know where I got all mine, but hopefully the day would come where I could remember everything.

"Yer awfully calm fer someone captured by their enemy," Jazz drawled, capturing almost all of my attention once more.

"One does not let themself become intimidated easily," I said emotionlessly, optics boring into his bright blue visor. "I suggest going back to your desk and being productive. You will get nothing out of me, be it voluntarily or not." For a moment, he stared at me, a haunted look entering his visor, despite him struggling to keep his slip of control from showing. However, before I could analyze it any longer, the strip of crystalized metal hardened, his jaw becoming tense and set.

"Tell meh, wha' do ya know 'bout Shockwave?" Normally, I wouldn't answer, but I couldn't help but retort mockingly.

"A lot more than you do, I'm sure, Autobot." My entire faceplate and frame was devoid of any emotion, but judging by the slightly narrowing of the cobalt blue visor, I could tell he picked up the sarcasm. And the truth was, I probably did, so I didn't lie, but he didn't need to know that.

"Did he ever experiment 'round ya? Ever mention anythin' 'bout a human? Anythin' organic?" He stood quickly, servos wrapping around the bars so hard, I could hear the faint whining of gears and wires straining. "Where's Colonel Thana Kalu?" he almost yelled, visor red around the edges. The TIC continued to question me, and I said nothing more, just watched him, studying the angered and grieving mech. However, a black Autobot, Ironhide, told the silver mech that his shift was up and that he would guard the door to the brig for the night. With a solemn shake of his horned helm, he walked out, steps just a bit heavier than when he first entered.

I waited for a long while after Jazz left, listening intently to the muffled outside world. The halls grew quiet, and I slowly powered down. There was a program I had installed soon after my awakening in Shockwave's lab that let me respond with quicksilver reactions if anything, however miniscule, disturbed my recharge. The last thing I offlined was my golden-amber optics, taking in the shadows of the brig before falling into the welcoming abyss.

"_Pa, are you coming?" I called out behind my shoulder. I looked back to see my muscular father trotting up to me, his brilliant smile lighting up his face._

"_Slow down, you little firecracker," he chuckled, finally reaching me. His strong arms wrapped around my waist and I laughed as he picked me up and threw me onto his shoulders. He was so tall, I could see everything in the crowd._

_We were in a small village south of Dalandzadgad, Mongolia, and it was a very busy day in the town square. Vendors along the street were selling food, jewelry, and trinkets, and I was fascinated at this small town festival. It wasn't often I got to go into a town nearby our camp, and I got to spend even less time than that with my loving father._

_For another hour, we strolled around the street, looking but never purchasing anything. Ma and Pa never had much in the way of money, because they spent it all trying to give me a good education while always moving from one country to the next. _

_My father and I started to leave as the sun was beginning to set, hand in hand. I smiled up at him, and he returned the gesture._

"_Thanks, Pa," I eagerly hugged the large man, and he wrapped his arms around my smaller body easily. I felt comfort and love radiating from those arms, but I was cruelly ripped from the father-daughter moment by a grating, evil voice._

"_Aw, what do we have here?" sneered a man, and both Pa and I whipped around to see a man of European descent standing before us. He was probably almost six-foot tall, dusky blonde hair that was starting to grey. His leaf-green eyes crinkled at the edges, giving him a positively nasty appearance. In his hand, he held a .22 revolver, cocked and at the ready. He need only pull the trigger._

"_Thana," my father whispered to me, still crouched in front of me. "When I say 'go,' run to camp as fast as you can. Don't look back." I never got a chance to answer him. _

"_Why are you here, Fredinand?" my father growled, hand slowly reaching for his modified Glock 17. _

"_I just tracked you all the way from Peru, and that's the welcome I get?" he cackled. "I would've thought you had better manners than that, Bhekizitha. After all, shouldn't this nice little lass get to know me?"_

"_Leave her out of this!" snarled Pa. I just managed not to cower behind him, but the man, Fredinand, seemed to notice my little slipup. _

"_Oh, scared her, did I? Well, I don't do loose ends, remember?" The .22 slowly rose and was pointed in my direction. Good heavens, I wanted to move so badly, but it was like a horror movie. You want to move, your mind is screaming at you, but your body won't cooperate. It was a terrible, terrible feeling._

"_No!" Pa shouted, and I heard two gunshots. Fredinand dropped like a stone, in what appeared to be slow motion, blood pouring from the new hole right between his eyes. But my father, my poor father, he, too, fell. Blood blossomed from his chest as he fell to his knees, sinking just a bit into the soft ground. I stood there, horrified beyond words._

"_Pa!" I screamed, diving to his side. The crimson liquid began to trickle from his mouth, his breathing becoming ragged too quickly for my liking. "Hold on, Pa! Help's gonna get here soon! Just hang on!" Tears began to sting my eyes, but didn't fall. _

"_Thana…I love your mother…and…" he fell into a coughing fit, blood pouring from the fatal wound and his mouth. "…and you…My little…firecracker…" His eyes, the same ones that sparkled with amusement and love so many times. The same eyes that would narrow playfully at me when I was caught doing something mischievous. Those beautiful blue-grey eyes turned glassy. His chest stopped its rise and fall. I couldn't feel his heartbeat._

_I sat there for hours, stone-like, not able to do anything, not even radio the base. One of the SEALs came and found me like that, kneeling unmoving beside my father's cold body. That was the first time I saw a dead person I had been very familiar with. One of my few loved ones. _

_I was seven years old._

I awoke suddenly, vents gasping, optics wide and bright. Only one thought ran through my processor: What the _heck_ was that?!

End of Chapter

_Geez, poor Thana. So much sorrow in her life. A seven-year-old, seeing the death of her father…I can't imagine. The story's writing itself as of now, so we'll see where my fingers lead me. I hope you all leave me reviews so I know what you think of the story thus far. Have a good day._


	15. Chapter 14

_Hey everyone. Sorry it's been a while since I last updated the story. I barely had time to myself this last half-week, so forgive me please. I don't own anything. Enjoy._

_**Chapter 14**_

I had been at the Autobot base for twelve days so far. And every day was the same thing; interrogation. It never wavered, but I had a few mechs try and get information out of me or find some lie. But nothing ever slipped past my immobile metallic lips.

As they asked the same questions, my processor would turn back to that first night spent in this brig cell, and I mulled over the…vision, for lack of a better term. Was it a memory? If it was, then why was I looking through the optics of an organic? And the large, darker colored organic; the one I was seeing through called him 'Pa.' There was also a 'Ma' mentioned, and some village in some country located probably on this planet.

I never told any of the Autobots about this. That would be giving up information I rather keep to myself. But when the silver saboteur entered the brig once more after twelve days of absence, concern washed over me. He had a slightly feral glint in his visor, his jaw set in a strong line. And the cable in his servo did nothing to quell the sense of foreboding that was festering in me.

"Ya ain't gonna answer any of meh questions, are ya?" It was obvious he didn't expect an answer from me, but he still let that pause creep in. However, it wasn't obvious why he did so. "'Kay, Ah'm gonna have ta dig 'round in yer processor. Ya gonna cooperate?" In response, I just stared emotionlessly at him, but out of my peripheral vision, I cautiously watched the slight movement of the cable. I knew my upgraded firewalls could keep Jazz out, I just wasn't in the mood to test them.

He approached the cell, and after determining that the bonds were secure, he slipped through the barred door. He automatically locked it. No sense in letting a prisoner loose, I guess. The entire time, I studied him, watching carefully. I had to wait until the perfect moment; I needed that slight advantage over my captor.

Just as the end was about to slide home, I pounced. Over the last few days, I had slowly and methodically worked open the restraints on my legs and arms. Also, I had regained sensory feed from my wings. All in all, I was a tightly coiled spring ready to explode. And he never expected it.

The first thing I did when I jumped was disable his comm system, so he couldn't call for help. That was done in midair, the moment my servos reached his sliver frame. My momentum pushed into the bars, Jazz taking the blow and stunning him even more. Reeling back, I punched his faceplates, hard, and a slight stream of blue life-energon ran from his olfactory appendage. By now, surely, his processor had to be running to catch up with the sudden change of events.

Stepping back, I grabbed a pair of stasis cuffs I had been able to swipe, and cuffed the mech to the bars. I could feel his piercing optics through his crystal visor. He made a move to yell or something, only to realize I had disabled his vocal capacitor, too. He began to struggle, mutely grunting from the effort. I watched for a bit, but it was time for the next phase of my improvised plan. I walked over and stood over him, golden-amber optics boring into his slightly cracked visor.

"Take this as a warning," I growled lowly, right in his faceplate. My optics were narrowed, almost forcing the understanding into his processor. "I'm unpredictable and full of surprises. Do _not_ get in my way." My voice hadn't risen in pitch at all, and was spoken in spooky monotone, and I was secretly pleased to find him shaking slightly. I didn't see him as one who would quake from fright, so I put it down as anger. Just before turning to the door, I looked over my shoulder and smirked at the fuming mech.

I unlocked the brig cell with an extra piece of metal and the code I had seen Jazz type in. He tried to do it so I wouldn't see it, but I was trained to pick up little things like that, no matter how the target covered it. I then closed and reengaged the lock on the cell, and Jazz was practically seething with rage. He couldn't reach the lower part of his neck, where the comm controls were located, and he couldn't vocalize anything. With a smirk, I melted into the shadows with my non-reflective black paintjob, and saw a minute change in his visor. Again, I smirked, but it was internal this time, my stoic mask covering my features once more. The mech was trying to find me.

I had a signal dampener, crafted by Shockwave, so that no one could pick up my spark signature, or my fraction signal. After I had successfully hid my own spark signature, I replaced it with one only the top of Special Operations could determine that it wasn't actually Jazz's. Turning away from the struggling mech, I began walking to the door, shifting my armor, color bleeding into the plates, and a blue visor slid over my optics. Overall, I looked exactly like Jazz, and would even sound like him. I hadn't looked back, but I bet the mech had the most shocked expression written on his faceplates.

Among the first days I was with the Decepticons after waking up, I found out that I had been able to sorcel. This is a special ability that enables one to take the form of any bot that they scan. It was kind of like scanning for an alt mode, but this goes more in depth, so far as to I can perfectly copy anything that would be said by the bot, including accents.

But even with this amazing ability, I knew not to underestimate my opponents. It was not in my training, but something deeper in me, something buried away, had been able to shout in the faintest of whispers not to misjudge them. And I took the advice to spark.

Ironhide, the rough-and-tumble-cannon-sporting mech, didn't notice anything different. He waved me by, saying something along the lines of wanting to teach 'that Decepticon a thing or two.' I just nodded, sighing a bit, and walked away. I went to Jazz's quarters and waited until later that night when I could put the second part of my plan into action. I had a limit, since I didn't know how long the bonds would hold the silver mech I was impersonating.

… … … …

I snuck into the security center, steps so light there wasn't even a clank of metal on metal. There was only one mech in this room that was filled to the brim with monitors. Sunstreaker lounged next to them, pedes kicked up, chair tilted back, and his optics were glazed while fixed on the screens. I locked the door and typed in a code that would soundproof the room. I had noticed that all rooms aboard the _Ark_ sported this, and I shuddered when I found a logical reason why.

Dirty bots, they are.

With swift and silent movements, I crept up behind the relaxed Terror Twin, and observed him for a bit, just to be sure. Thankfully, he hadn't detected me at all. Glancing at the monitors, I made sure there were no bots out and about. It was pretty late, when the moon was just starting to climb back down from the star-filled sky.

I couldn't risk Sunstreaker activating the alarm, so I had to get rid of him. I found the wire quite easily and pinched it, hard. His indigo optics went black and soon his systems evened out and softened, indicating he was very deep in recharge. He was probably going to get chewed out for recharging on the job, but he would survive. Autobots generally don't stoop to torture like the Decepticons do.

Pushing the chair and the mech away from the screens, I accessed everything. Personnel files, weapons, battle strategies, things of importance, and even the roster for the next two and a half Earth months. I even went as far as to eliminate existence of me breaking out and replaced it with fake footage that I had quickly put together at that moment. I then quickly grabbed everything I could on this 'Colonel Thana Kalu,' telling myself I needed to know why Jazz freaked out about her the first day I was here. Nodding to myself as I disconnected, I rearranged the volatile twin to the exact position he was in before, de-soundproofed the room, unlocked the door, and quietly slipped out.

I crept all the way back to the brig, and the guard there, Sideswipe, didn't notice me. Jazz was still there, and I deliberately made my steps a little louder. He looked up, fury burning in his visor, and his digits were shifted into what I recognized as lock-picking instruments. I wish I could have that installed on my frame. That would actually be kind of cool.

Shifting my armor back to its original form, I unlocked the cell and stepped inside. Glancing at the cuffs, I noticed that he almost had them undone. I stepped up to the saboteur and pinched a wire that would immobilize his frame for a bit. Knowing him from his personal file, he would be able to counter the effects quicker than most others. Special Ops mechs had to be able to.

Undoing the cuffs, I dragged him out of the cell, relocked it, and stood there. As predicted, he overcame the effects in a much shorter time than it would take most. Growling, the silver mech stalked over to my cell, cobalt visor flashing dangerously.

"Wha' did ya do?" he snapped at me, but I gave him no expression other than a blank slate.

"That is between me and the night sky," I answered, walking back to my shackles and putting them back on me. Jazz just stood there, puzzled until realization hit him.

"Ya snuck 'round the base? In mah form?" I saw no reason to lie. Besides, he had no physical proof that I had left the brig and returned.

"Yes," I said truthfully. "And even if you are the TIC and Head of Special Operations, you have no proof of me escaping, let alone coming back." I tensed visibly when I saw a predatory smirk snake its way onto his faceplates, and concern blossomed inside of me.

"Ah can always have Ratchet scan mah processor," he goaded. I raised an optic ridge in disbelief.

"Yes, I'm sure that you will do that. No one voluntarily undergoes a processor scan."

"Unlike ya 'Cons, we Autobots actually trust each other." He left with a haughty air and a satisfied smirk. Internally, I shrunk to the size of a bolt. Oh, I messed up. I just broke my number one rule when dealing with the enemy: Don't _ever_ underestimate them.

_Hope you guys liked it and please leave your comments/concerns/questions in the reviews. I really do enjoy reading the reviews, so if you could post something, that would be great! And I bet you can all feel the burning humiliation Thana just suffered at the servos of Jazz. Poor femme...She'll get over it, I'm sure. Okay, have a great day everybody, and I'll try to work on the next chapter soon. Have a fantastic, safe, super fun Memorial Day weekend, and THANK YOU to all of our service men and women, whether you are police, Armed Forces, or whatever. We wouldn't be here without you guys watching over us! Thank you again!_


	16. Chapter 15

_Hey everyone. Sorry it's been a while, but I've been insanely busy these past few days. And I've also been away from my computer, so I suppose that didn't help one bit. Oh well. Anyways, here's the next chapter. Disclaimer: Don't own anything (Shockwave moment)._

_**Chapter 15**_

I realized that if Jazz was going to tell the medic right now, I had very little time to back up the information and read what I could on this Colonel Thana Kalu. I first fixed up everything; to make sure I had it even if the originals got deleted. It was only then did I open up the file.

_Colonel Thana Kalu_ the file started. It gave a picture of an organic femme, and I studied her face. Golden-amber optics, lips set in a stern line, an emotionless façade I saw right through, numerous scars littered her face, but the thing that really stuck out to me was the long, jagged scar that decorated her. I subconsciously traced my own, after retracting my battle mask that I kept in place, and I realized it matched perfectly.

That's creepy. I continued to look at her file. She had won numerous awards and medals, for doing so many things that screamed that she was a brave, if not slightly suicidal, individual. She had no family to speak of, no friends; her job as a Special Operations femme was her life.

It also read that she had been captured and spent a considerable amount of time as a POW. But according to her superior officers and herself, she never cracked. I couldn't see her as one who would lie about that. I just had this feeling that she wouldn't lie about something so important. I briefly wondered what I would do in those kinds of situations.

The Colonel had been on her own since she was ten, when her carrier had died. Her carrier had offlined due to something called breast cancer, and apparently, the Colonel was next to her carrier until the end. Later in her life, though, she did get revenge on the one who killed her creator. Actually, it was the mech from the…dream I had earlier. From age ten, she was shipped back to the United States, her country of origin, and spent six years in something called the foster system. She had been sent to a lot of bad homes, but never complained, instead taking all the unnecessary, uncalled for punishment.

When she turned 16, her parents' old commanding officer, on his deathbed, had gotten her a spot in Marines basic training. She was the youngest ever to join, and even more determined to make it. She passed with flying colors, and Special Operations, something called MARSOC, took notice. But they weren't the only one. Occasionally, the Navy SEALs were able to get her to join on a few operations, but it was less than a dozen. Few other Spec Ops wished to get her, and if it was approved, they did, but she never gave up her Marine title or rank. She was given a special dispensation that very few knew about to let her behind enemy lines and on the frontlines. And what was more surprising to me, she said yes…to every single one. Never did she turn down an assignment, something that told me that she was either incredibly brave or impossibly stupid. And I was willing to vote on the ladder.

I continued to read, growing ever amazed at the strength and courage this femme spouted. A few times she exceeded my expectations, but I couldn't hold her to par with me. She was an organic; I am stronger in the physical and probably mental/emotional areas. Still, she had to be pretty strong to endure the kind of stuff she went through. I could read between the lines that she felt like the world was closing in on her, crushing her. She was a one-femme army against the world, one that kept telling her she couldn't, but again and again she proved it wrong. Proved so many other organics wrong.

Her last mission had gone horribly wrong. The enemy had been tipped off by someone she had yet to determine, and was captured. For five Earth years, she was continuously tortured for information. They never killed her, for reasons she couldn't fathom, but she was still grateful. As a result of her latest POW stint, she lost both of her legs, suffered many broken and fractured bones, but was thankfully rescued after successfully escaping.

The Colonel's report was sporadic in detail. She couldn't remember everything, but I couldn't understand why. She didn't seem to be the kind that would freak out or have memory backlashes, but she did explain how the days blurred together. "Sometimes," she added, "I was sure I was out for a day or two, because they never told me the date, and I was knocked unconscious many times."

Even though it was never stated, I could tell this organic didn't want any sympathy. She just didn't strike me as that kind of femme. But she also didn't want her name to be known. It could've been because of self-preservation, or just that she didn't want to be known. Why wouldn't she want to be known? I would.

I read through her reports, and the Autobots' reports, and other organics' reports on her. They described her as closed-off, cold, but they could all see the warm side she held beneath her 'thick skin,' as one organic identified only as Epps had stated. They all liked her, respected her, and treated her wonderfully. She had many potential friends, but she kept her distance. And it seemed like I was the only one who could understand why.

She didn't want them to get hurt by her passing. She knew it was inevitable, and would most likely die before any of them. But that wasn't the only reason. She didn't want to be hurt in the process of one of them dying. So, she closed herself off, held everyone at arm's length. It didn't seem like she saw that she was hurting them more by doing so. However, tucked behind some other parts, I picked out two small reports of the Colonel's. One was about Prowl, the Second-in-Command and Head Tactical Officer, whom she described as a brother, whatever that is. But there was another about a mech organic designated Major Michal Cole, United States Marine Corps. I put both off to the side, though. I wanted to learn about the Colonel, not anyone else.

Then I got closer to the end of the lengthy file. Apparently, a battle had gone wrong, to put it mildly, and she ended up captured by the Decepticons, specifically Shockwave. They didn't see her for weeks, only to get a horrible wake-up call that crushed every mech and organic. A metal crate was found, and inside held her tortured, disfigured, horrendous, cold frame. They mourned for her, but some still held onto the hope that she was alive, that the tests preformed by Ratchet himself were wrong. Jazz was one of those few, as was Prowl.

A ceremony that combined organic traditions and Cybertronian, specifically Praxian and Polyhexian, was held in honor of the femme. Most had accepted her death and tried their hardest to move on, but those two, Jazz and Prowl, wouldn't accept it. They said that she was still out there, waiting to be rescued, and they'd be darned if they gave up now.

I closed the file with a heavy vent, saving the file, encrypting it even more so than the information I had retrieved. I couldn't finish it. I had skipped over a lot, but it had to be some sick fascination with the Colonel that made me keep reading. But I felt sick to my tanks. I felt as if I knew her personally, like she was me. I vented once more and offlined my optics, spark heavy but determined. I wanted to find this organic. I had to meet her, and no one, not Jazz, the Twins, or even Shockwave would stop me now. I would find out what happened to her and give these Autobots, and myself, closure.

… … … …

The next morning, Jazz entered with the glossy twins and the lime green medic. The silver mech opened the brig and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker quickly restrained me. If it was just those two, I probably had a chance, but not with an irate medic and ticked-off saboteur. Ratchet approached me, a syringe in servo and injected the serum into me. I watched the mechs as the drugs set in, making me sluggish and slow. When it had inebriated me enough, the TIC waved to the twins, who picked me up.

"Oof, she's heavy," commented Sideswipe, and even a little loopy, I glared harshly at the red mech.

"I don't appreciate that," I growled, slurring my words, with my voice echoing off the cold walls of the brig as we neared the door. Sunstreaker didn't respond, but his servos tightened minutely around my arm and leg, while his twin merely smirked in response.

They hauled me to the med bay, and practically threw me onto the berth in the back room. I was securely strapped down tightly, and memories I didn't know I had threatened to surface. I just barely hid them from acting themselves out. The Terror Twins smirked and left to guard the med bay doors while Jazz and Ratchet stayed. For a few moments, they studied me, and by the way they nodded slightly every now and again, I could only conclude that they were talking over a comm link.

Wordlessly, the brightly colored medic approached me, and I tensed when I caught sight of the cable slithering out of his wrist. Jazz was right behind him, likewise to link with my processor.

It was an awful feeling when two forces began to bang against my firewalls. I could tell that they knew it was Shockwave's doing that my firewalls were still standing against their attacks without a metaphorical dent or scratch on them. However, with the best saboteur and medic Cybertron had to offer repeatedly attacking them, and in the same place, in a sense, my firewalls began to weaken. A virus then began to attack alongside them. I don't know if they introduced it or if it was implanted in my processor, but suddenly my resolve to keep the mechs out heightened. The virus wasn't attacking alongside them, as I had originally thought, but was trying to get out. It was trying to invade the processors of the mechs! So now, instead of only two forces acting as one, I had three. A strange sense of honor started to make itself known. I couldn't give them closure if they were offlined. I desperately began to warn them inside my helm, and they eventually caught on that I wasn't lying or trying to deceive them. Deep in the back of my mind's optic, I grew intensely angry at Shockwave. If one of these mechs got hurt by his virus that he implanted in me, it would really hurt my chances of getting out. Sick bucket of bolts.

The moment they left, the virus fell dormant. My processor ached like nothing else, and I wished to rub my helm where it hurt. I think I muttered an 'ow' or something to that extent, the outside world growing more and more distorted. Concerned expressions jumped onto Ratchet and Jazz's faceplates as my vision went blurry and my helm began to swim.

A door opened, I vaguely heard. Some bot had entered that had a black and white paintjob, but it was extremely blurry to me. I think a designation was called, but it wasn't WOMD, Jazz, or Ratchet. Instead, just before I lost consciousness, I was almost certain that the bot shouted 'Thana...' but there was no metallic ring to it.

_Hope to hear from you guys some time in the reviews. It's getting kind of lonely over here. Next chapter's going to be different, just to warn you. I'm not going to give anything away, because that's how I am. Sorry, no spoilers. Anyways, I hoped you enjoyed it and have a fantastic day!_


	17. Chapter 16

**Important Notice:**_ As of June 9, 2013, if you have read the story all along before the posted date, I encourage you to read the ending of the last chapter. I have changed it slightly, and so you don't, you feel like you are missing something. _

_Here's the next chapter for you all. Hope you like it. I don't own _Transformers_ or _JAG_, and that last one will make more sense at the end. Sorry for the long update, too. I've been really busy. Have fun!_

_**Chapter 16**_

"_Thana!" he called, slamming open the door. I turned to look at him, an eyebrow cocked, but no other expression on my face. He jogged the last few steps, dark chocolate brown eyes twinkling happily, the grin on his face almost seemingly painful. _

"_Can I help you?" I asked of him. He rolled his eyes, heaving a playful, mock-frustrated sigh._

"_Really? That's all you say? I come running to you, my best friend, with great news, and that's all you have to say for yourself?" I gazed indifferently at him, saying absolutely nothing more. He scrubbed his hands over his face, muttering something or other. _

"_What is this 'great news,' Michal?" I humored him. Chief Warrant Officer 5 Michal Cole, United States Marine Corps. He was the only one I could truly call a friend. He was from a little town in Minnesota, and had a slight farmer's tan and mousy brown hair. He was taller than me by a good half a foot, more muscle definition, but we could lift the same. Actually, I could lift more, but I let him beat me every time. I didn't want to hurt his pride too much._

"_So, I went to that new bar on base…"_

"_And met a girl, you got to talking, and you want me to meet her before you ask her out, is that it?" Michal just laughed heartily, the noise echoing in our shared barracks. Ever since we met back in high school, his senior year and my sophomore, we had been as close as brother and sister. I patiently waited for him to calm down, him being completely used to this line of questioning._

"_Yeah, that's it," he finally answered, rubbing the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly. "Do you think you can come tomorrow night?" I walked over to the calendar and looked at what I had to do that night. _

"_I'm free that night. What time should we head out?" I turned to the one who I could only describe as my best friend, my brother. Despite him being older by two years, he felt like a little brother to me. _

"_She said that she would get there about eight, so sometime around then. That okay with you?" I nodded, giving him my 'signature' crooked smile. I threw my bag on the floor finally, collapsing on the couch. _

"_What's her name?" I pulled up my computer, already setting to work. As per usual, I was going to do a full background check on her. It's just what I always did, and Michal knew it._

"_Annie Brian," he simply stated, heading for the wash racks to get ready for bed. I nodded and typed the name into the database, going all the way back to the day she was born. And I didn't feel the slightest bit of shame at the privacy intrusion. Michal was my brother, I his older sister, and I would do everything in my power to keep him from getting hurt. _

… … … …

"_Annie?" Michal said, when we walked up to the table she was sitting at. It had three chairs, seeing as my brother had informed her that I was going to join them. We sat and I took good look at this girl._

_Porcelain skin free of any blemishes, golden yellow locks flowing, reaching just past her shoulders in loose curls. She had bright, energetic cat-green eyes that fit her. Not many could pull off that color of eyes, but she did it with style. She was wearing a red dress that hugged her form on top, but loosened just past her hips. Black stilettos, thin eyeliner, eye shadow, and pink-red lipstick completed her look. She had a very pretty face, one that you'd expect to see modeling or on movies, but from what I garnered, she was a lawyer. Not in the military, mind you, but she did occasionally do cases for the retired or discharged. _

"_Michal, hi," she greeted, her voice girly, like one would expect from a girly movie. "And I assume that you are his sister?" We shook hands, but I saw her wince just a bit. I have a firm handshake, what can I say?_

"_Second Lieutenant Kalu," I introduced myself. "You must me Annie Brian." It wasn't a question, but a statement, and she nodded, flashing me a pearly white smile. I, however, didn't even attempt at a smile. She didn't deserve it…not yet, at least._

_We ordered drinks, or at least, they did, I just got water, and talked for a while. She didn't mention anything I hadn't already known. No brothers, but was the second girl out of three, captain of the cheerleading team, lawyer, etc. Eventually, the topics steered away from her and onto Michal. Again, it wasn't anything I hadn't heard or read before about him. And then it turned to me._

"_You guys aren't really siblings, are you?" Annie asked, looking between us, leaving it open for one of us to answer. Of course, Michal answered first. _

"_No, but we're as close as blood-siblings, maybe even more so." My brother had four younger brothers, and while they were close, they did have a lot of family problems on which I will not elaborate. "We met in high school and just grew closer after I finally got her to stop glaring at me like she wanted me to drop dead." My eyes slid over to him while the two laughed at his joke. And he wasn't too far off of the truth, either, and he knew it. Michal had to be the most annoying high school senior ever to walk the Earth. _

"_What about you, Kalu? Do you have any _real_ siblings?" Michal had told her previously, before we arrived, that she was to either refer to me by my last name or rank. She didn't get the privilege of knowing my first name._

"_No," I said simply. When I didn't continue (Why would I?), she awkwardly averted her green gaze and settled it on my 'little' brother. _

… … … …

"_I'm really going to miss you, Thana," Michal sadly said, hugging me one more time. Not too long before I got my notice, which always comes at the last second, to go overseas, he had gotten promoted to Major. I was so proud of him. _

_Behind him stood Annie, his girlfriend. They had been dating for three years now, and he was thinking about proposing, but neither of them were quite ready for that just now. Michal was also going to go overseas, but he was going out on a carrier settled in the Indian Ocean. He was a pilot of an F/A-18 Hornet fighter jet, scheduled for ten months of multiple missions before he could come back for some R&R (Rest and Rehabilitation). _

"_Just come back in one piece, nothing broken off, okay?" he practically pleaded. I smiled a bit at him, pulling back to look in his dark brown eyes._

"_I can't promise anything, and you know that, Michal," he looked away, slightly ashamed at trying to get me to do something I would never do. "Hey, look at me." Finally, he brought his eyes back to mine, tears clouding his expressive eyes. "I'll try my hardest. And if you get hurt, you come back to Annie immediately, do you understand me?" He gave me a watery smile and we hugged once more. I pulled back and hefted my sea bag onto my shoulders, sneaking a peek at the perky blond. "Let me give you some advice, Michal. You have a great girl there, one I actually approve of," he smiled a bit, "and as long as she's true to you, and even if she isn't, you have to stay true. You two are meant for each other, I think."_

"_Don't hurt him, or I will break you," I murmured to Annie as I walked past her. She nodded, knowing fully that I would make good on that threat if she ever hurt my brother. I walked past the security gates with the rest of the Marines and just before I boarded, I looked over my shoulder. Annie had her thin arms wrapped around Michal, who in turn threw a muscular arm over her shoulders. They waved to me and I gave them a full-honor salute then walked onto the aircraft. I had a mission I had to do once I got to Kenya. _

… … … …

_I was going to leave in under a half hour, under the cover of a moonless night. However, as I was going over my gear for what had to be the tenth time, the tiny base's communication center assistant came running into my tent, a piece of paper in his hand. Wordlessly, he handed it to me, and promptly left, leaving me slightly puzzled. He had seemed very apprehensive. Shrugging it off, I unfolded the paper, and stared down in shock._

_It was a letter from Captain Ross, the skipper aboard the same carrier as Michal. My horror grew as I continued to read, one of my worst nightmares coming true. According to the skipper, Michal had been in a squadron with five other Hornets, doing some classified, tactical operations, but I had already known about the missions. There were perks to having such a high security clearance. _

_Enemy fire quickly came upon them and the Hornet Michal and his copilot were in went down in flames. After the enemy stopped, the others circled to try and find the wreckage. Quickly after it was located, a search-and-rescue team was deployed, with the Hornets continuously keeping an eye out. _

_The copilot didn't know where Michal had gone off. His memory was wiped from the crash, so he was of no help. And the others were too high to notice a single man crawling from the wreckage. _

_I sat on the cot, head in my hand, the other gripping the paper tightly. My little brother…gone…MIA. My mind went blank. There was no body, the skipper had reported, and no signs of my brother if he had indeed crawled from it all. If he died…there was no more reason for me. He alone was the reason I checked over my things twice as much as I would've done. Because after it all, I wanted to be able to get back to him and see him smile and hear his laugh. _

_And now…Michal was gone. Gone from my arms, from me. Life was so cruel. Take away my baby brother, now will you? That means you took my life. I was as good as dead without him._

_Poor Annie…she never got to see him kneel before her, ring in the box, open to only her eyes. She wouldn't get to wear that white wedding dress, walk down the aisle to a handsome, young man. They wouldn't be able to have kids, or like they had talked about, fostering or adopting. _

_And Michal…he would never be able to wear his dress uniform, smiling so wide that it seemed painful. He'd never get to experience the joy at seeing the love of his life walk down to him, dressed in a flowing gown. And I'd never get to tease him about it._

_Well, if it was anything like my mother, father, and I believed in, he would be reincarnated. They had told me that one keeps going through life cycles until they reach perfect happiness; only then are they admitted to heaven. I knew I wouldn't ever see my parents until I reached heaven. But the possibilities of me reaching perfect happiness in this life were slim to none, leaning more towards the ladder. _

_I stood, stuffing the letter into my sea bag that would stay here for a while until I finished my mission. Or if they moved, they would take it with them. Time to go and release my anger and grief out on those who deserve it._

… … … …

I felt my systems boot up slowly, but I didn't dare online my optics, for fear of someone knowing I was awake. I wanted to know what was going on first before I let that knowledge be known. I strained to hear the soft voices beyond a door that was my only exit from a closed-off room. My doorwings told me it was as such.

"Prowl, I don't know what you are talking about," said a gruff voice, muffled through the door and wall. "I don't understand why you think this is some femme that you knew."

"Ratchet," spoke the one I assumed was Prowl, "That frame, that femme, is the exact same one as my sister."

"Ah didn't know ya had a sista," a mech said, voice heavily accented. "Why didn't ya tell meh?"

"She was captured when I was but a youngling," admitted Prowl. "Smokescreen and Bluestreak have even less memories than I. Maia, our sister, was much older, being a few vorns from her adult upgrade. Because we didn't have that strong of bonds with her, my brothers and I didn't realize that she had passed into the Well of AllSparks. However, before our carrier offlined, she told me that Maia wasn't completely gone." There was a pause, and I could only wonder what they were doing. "And it seems that she was right. That femme in there is exactly what Maia looked like."

"How can ya be certain its 'er?" asked the mech with no designation. Again, there was silence before the monotoned mech called Prowl answered.

"I can _feel_ her."

…_._

_Hey there. Because I do not own _JAG_ either, it would be fair to announce that Captain Ross, the skipper aboard a carrier, was a character on the 10-season TV show. He appeared on _Chains of Command_, so I don't own him. Just thought you'd like to know that. And Maia, we'll learn more about her. Her name means 'brave warrior.' Well, read and review, and I hope you liked it. And I'm sorry about the cliffhanger again. I'm so mean sometimes. __ Oh, and have a great day!_


	18. Chapter 17

_I don't own anything. Hope you all like it. And for a bit of a recap, Thana's been a Cybertronian for a couple months at the beginning of this chapter. She has trust issues that have carried over from her time as a human. It also will give an insight into how she views the world and life. _

_**Chapter 17**_

I laid there, optics online and staring at the horrid orange ceiling. Truthfully, it had to be the most obnoxious, disgusting color ever to be created. Whoever came up with it should be shot. And I would gladly do the honors.

I mentally shook my helm, disposing of those thoughts. It wasn't often I got so easily distracted, but when I did, it could get very strange. Instead, I turned my processor back to the short discussion outside my private medical room. I was no longer WOMD-1 apparently, but the Autobot SIC's older sibling. I was sure I would remember something like that. My vision darkened as I quickly realized that I was having a memory backlash…

"…_and while we may not remember our entire previous lives, we still know that we had them," explained Ma as her, Pa, and I sat on the edge of cliff, overlooking the Great Barrier Reef. _

"_What do you remember, Ma?" I asked, curiosity peaked. Even my father turned to hear his wife's answer._

"_I couldn't have been more than 13 when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima," she started. My mother then recounted the exact details of how she saw the bomb falling, when she heard the bomb siren wailing, everything. She recounted every single detail, but she said that she didn't remember much else from that, or other, past lives. _

_My father then told us about how he was a young boy living in Southern mansion at the of the slave era. I always thought it was ironic, from that point on, that my father was once a slave owner, and now he has the heritage, in this life, that leads all the way back to the same time period._

"Whoa…" I muttered, sitting up slowly. It was the same organics from a while back, and I was portrayed as that same organic, too. Weird. I also noted that the only reason I could sit up, but not get off, was do to the stasis cuffs keeping me restrained to the medical berth. I didn't realize the door was sliding open until a bright flash of light hit my unprepared optics. Of course, I could only get the blurriest of outlines because the door was on my right and that optic was practically useless.

"I see that you are awake," said a gruff voice, one that I quickly associated with the medic, Ratchet. I kept my lip plates firmly shut, not speaking a word to the one who I knew was going to dig around in my processor again. Virus or not, they would keep going at it. The green-yellow mech stood over me, checking my vitals on the machines I was hooked up to. The door slid open once more, and while I was trying to keep an optic on the medic, I got even less of an outline from the newcomer.

The bot stood off to the side, near a corner where my peripheral vision met nothingness. Ratchet continued to work over me, checking machines and replacing welds I didn't even know I had. Because I was lying down on my back, thus on my wings, thus I couldn't get any kind of mental picture of the mystery bot.

This process went on for an unspecified amount of time, seeing as there was no way of telling time because my internal chronometer was broken. And it irked me that I couldn't see the unknown bot standing out of my limited sight. I could think of a few choice words to send their way.

Finally, Ratchet left, leaving the unknown and me. Just as the door slid home, the bot moved, but behind me. However, I sat up, battle protocols starting up. It was kind of tight in here, but I could make do. Shockwave fought me in smaller quarters than this.

"Maia…" he started, and I froze, the monotone voice telling me it was Prowl, the Autobot SIC and HTO. From what I knew of him, he was a well-trained fighter, even if most thought he just sat behind a terminal directing battles. No, he could hold his own; that much I knew.

"That is not my designation," I said, also in monotone, doorwings following his every movement. They didn't move, but I could practically 'see' him walking around my back slowly, faceplate towards me.

"Then what, may I ask, is your designation?" He was now directly behind me, and as I coolly gave him a response, I was also thinking of ways to defeat him if he chose to attack. However, I had an inkling that he wouldn't, though. I couldn't explain it, but I knew he just wouldn't.

"No, you may not ask. It's for me to know, and for you to never find out." I felt him hesitate, but if I didn't have such sensitive sensor nodes in my wings, I would've never spotted it. "I do not give my designation out to strange bots."

Eventually, he circled around until he was in my optical view, and I got a good look at him. Black and white paintjob, doorwings, words I didn't understand on the frozen appendages, a bright ruby chevron, shadowing gold optics. He had talons like me, but they weren't as sharp or as long as the ones connected to my servos. Actually, now that I thought about it, he did look like me, just in a much more mech-like way. He broadcasted broader shoulders, larger doorwings, longer chevron, and taller, too. I felt as if I was always being beaten out on the height scale. I swear everyone was taller than me, and it was quite frustrating.

This mech believed I was his long-lost sister, and I still couldn't understand how he would make that connection. What did this femme look like? Did she act like me? What happened that caused her to disappear? I wanted answers, but I couldn't ask them. Not yet, at least. But I would find them later, and I knew exactly where to look.

… … … …

I didn't like routine. It became monotonous, boring me into a pile of liquid metal. At times I wondered if I would ever become the first to offline because of boredom. Every day was the same thing: Jazz or Prowl would come into the brig, ask questions throughout their shifts, getting nothing in return, then leave to recharge the night away. I didn't recharge during the day, but I could feel myself falling into that state because there was no change. I thrived on change, on overcoming unexpected obstacles. But this…this was like walking in a straight line with nothing around you. The same thing, day after day, and you felt like you could just offline.

However, three Earth months into my stay in the brig, the routine shifted. And for me, well, I was quite excited. I heard the sirens go off outside the brig, pedes falling on the metal floor at a quick pace, orders being spoken through the ship's comm system. All in all, I was happy for it. Now, I could escape and get my information to Shockwave.

After I would get it to the one optic mech, I would then go through his notes, looking for anything that had to deal with one Colonel Thana Kalu, United States Marine Corps. I _needed_ to know what happened to her.

I waited until the ship was quiet once more before shooting the camera in the brig. Immediately, alarms rang, but I ignored them, opting instead to shoot the cell door, breaking open the coded opening system. I had bypassed the medical restrictions on my weapons long ago, I had just been waiting for an opportune moment. With a haughty, but cautious, air about me, I almost pranced out of the brig, helm held high. The moment didn't last long, since the sound of running pedes soon caught up to my audios. With a smirk, I began to run silently, evading and shooting out cameras. I lead the mysterious mechs on a merry chase until I reached the open mouth of the ship.

I transformed into my only aerial alt mode, an F/A-18 Hornet, which I remembered was in that memory backlash I had a while ago. I had heard the comm system, so I knew where the battle was. Thankfully, I should be able to get there before it was even half-over.

… … … …

The familiar sounds of a raging battle reached my audios as soon as I caught sight of the Autobots and Decepticons. Just as I was starting my dive from high in the air, I caught wind of Starscream's joyous rant. And he included that once everything worked out, he was going to 'do' me. I saw red as I turned from my original plan to a new one. That Seeker was going to get his aft handed to him!

"Hey, Starscream!" I yelled, and he and the mech he had been trying to get rid of looked up at me, surprise evident in both their expressions. I wasted no more time, dive-bombing towards the coward. In the back of my processor, it registered that the mech on Starscream was Sideswipe, but I didn't acknowledge it. He was just there, as far as I was concerned. The Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptor quickly let go of the frontliner, trying to make a hasty getaway. Something in the back of my processor, and in my spark, screamed at me to catch the freefalling mech before he met his doom, and I was helpless to follow their commands. Besides, if having this mech offline or serious get hurt, it would mean the F-22 would win this round.

I grabbed hold of the glossy red mech, heading towards the ground until it was safe to drop him. Not once did I take my sensors off of the circling-back Seeker. With a boost from my thrusters, I took off into the air once more, homing in on Starscream, the mech now realizing I didn't abandon my fight completely. He started to shoot missiles at me, but they were poorly aimed, exploding when my plasma blasts hit them.

I chased the Seeker, fury coursing through me. I knew _exactly_ what Starscream had been going on about, having cut off more than one of his advances back at the underwater base. And now, he was finally going to get what was coming to him.

I was lost in the sensations. The wind whistling around my wings, the speed we were flying at, the anger, the pathetic nature of the mech, everything. If someone asked me recount the battle of Starscream and I, I wouldn't be able to give him or her a straight answer. Too soon for me, Megatron called a retreat and they limped back to their main base, leaving the Autobots victorious once more. I, however, took off in the direction of Shockwave's lab. They wouldn't allow me to defect no matter what, and not that I wanted to, anyways.

I didn't think anyone was following me…

_There you go. Cliffhanger again. Can you guess who it is? I haven't fully decided as of now, but it will most likely be someone you don't expect. If it were me reading, I would probably not connect the dots on what HTO means. It's Head Tactical Officer, if you wanted to know. Thanks to everyone who has been reading this story, or others. It means a lot to me. I hope you all have a great day._

_And before I forget, because I haven't done it in a while, and I feel bad about it, I want to give a big shout-out to my friend and beta _**Alathea2**_. Thanks for putting up with me, my friend. _


	19. Chapter 18

_Here's another chapter for you to (hopefully) enjoy. I'd like to let you know it does get a bit…bloody in this one, but nothing more so than usual. However, it does somewhat vaguely describe methods of torture. Just wanted to warn you guys. And another note, there are some Cybertronian swear words in here, in case you wanted to know. Anyways, read on! _

_**Chapter 18**_

It was a really stupid thing to do, I know, but that femme wasn't about to get away so easily. I would make sure of that. It didn't matter that she didn't let Sideswipe fall to his offlining, but it _did_ matter because she was going back to the Decepticons. And Prowl was _so_ sure she would defect to our side.

Because I was in the security room, I had seen the Cons gathering at that same place in the Sahara Desert, and I had also seen a general direction they had come from. The femme and Screamer had come from a different direction, somewhere in the ocean was all I could get, but it gave me a heading. And if I've observed anything about the femme, she does a lot of evasive maneuvers so no one could follow her tracks. Smart for a femme.

However, Screamer is the exact opposite. Everything is done the straightest, fastest way possible. So I guess in that instant, the femme, who we still don't have a designation for, is the smarter of the two. She would rather take the long way around to throw off someone then take them straight to her hideout.

Too bad she never anticipated me.

I wasn't a scout by any means. They have smaller, thinner frames than us. We are always supplied with thicker armor to accompany us with the fierce violence we are submitted to. But I had to go and follow the femme. I just wish now I knew what I was getting myself into…

… … … …

It took me a good while to find the underwater base and get inside. Ugh, the saltwater was going to ruin my new paintjob. It was when I was halfway here that my brother had called for me frantically over our bond. I told him that I had to do this, and not to send anyone unless I called for backup. Reluctantly, the more devious of us agreed, but said Ratchet, Optimus, Prowl, and Jazz were none too happy about it.

I finally got into the base, taking some…less than creative ideas and putting them to use to get in. Sideswipe was the code-breaker, not me. Slipping inside, I dried off enough so that I wouldn't make a sound and would leave no wet tracks. It was at this time I was incredibly grateful for my wheeled heels, because metal striking metal in dead silence is enough to wake the offline.

Suddenly, Shockwave himself stepped out of a room far down the hall, and I froze. We both stood like statues, unmovable to any force of this psychotic Earth weather. Out of nowhere, like shadow becoming solid, that femme came out and walked up to the one-optic freak. I strained my audios to their limits to hear what they were saying.

"Order: Training," said the emotionless fragger. She nodded and walked in after Shockwave, and only when the door closed and I heard the lock being engaged did I move. I ran up to the pad next to the sliding door and hacked into it, looking for anywhere on this dark and creepy base where I could watch this 'training.' Eventually, I found it, skating with all my might, like there was a seriously fragged off Ratchet after me. I also took notice that the base was pretty small and spooky quiet.

I darted to the monitors on the walls, bringing up as many shots of the room as possible. I wish I could've been prepared for what I was about to witness.

Shockwave began to question the femme, who he called WOMD-1. I had no idea what that meant, but I would try to find out later. If she remained silent, or didn't give an answer he seemed to like, he beat her. And it seemed like nothing pleased the slagging scientist-torturer. His beating styles of choice for this were an electrified energon whip and some sort of acid. The whip left marks that caused much cosmetic damage on her armor, which I realized was half as thick as mine, at the very most. Even the Spec Ops mechs and femmes on the Autobots had to have _at least_ armor _half_ as thick as mine. And the acid…I don't know. It seemed to burn a good square foot or two wherever it touched her armor plating, but didn't go much farther, like it had spent its energy.

She was strong throughout it all. Maybe a wince or a muted grunt, but nothing else. She stood there like a trooper through it all. But that creep wasn't finished.

With a wave of his servo, a dozen or so drones came pouring out of side rooms, all heading for the femme. And with a nod from the slagger, two long swords replaced her servos, her wings flared, and her optics narrowed in what seemed to be concentration. What surprised me was that even while the drones got a few good hits in because of their numbers, she tore through them as easily as I would with my twin.

As quickly as they had been summoned, all the drones lay dismembered on the training room floor, no more coming out and attacking. WOMD-1 turned to Shockwave, who did nothing more but stare her in the optics with his own disgustingly colored one. I swear he glanced at one of the cameras in that room, but I couldn't tell for sure. It quickly got me thinking as to _why_ I was _actually_ here, however, I didn't dwell on it for long.

A while longer passed, with the mostly black femme standing there, Shockwave stalking in a circle around her. I finally took a good look at her. Almost all of her plating was black underneath all the light blue life energon that leaked from her various wounds. She had a chevron that was a beautiful gold color with a white crest. I suspected if she was cleaned up and polished, that would stick out in a wonderful way, like I do whenever I walk into a room.

Her protoform was littered with scars, like the ones that would go passed the armor and would stay forever. Kind of like the scars that most of our human allies had. Lennox had told me that some scars disappear as time passed, but others stayed forever. And…and Thana, when she had been alive, told me each scar was a memory. She had pointed to one on her lower left leg, saying that was from a time she fell off of a military vehicle when she was four. Another one on her left shoulder was when she wasn't fast enough to save a little boy. After she said that, she had abruptly stood and left the rec room, leaving me staring after her, stunned. No one ever heard much about her life before us, maybe except Prowl or Jazz.

Anyways, back to WOMD-1, her wings were a bit more triangular than regular doorwings, but still could easily fit that description, so I had to guess that she was a triple-changer. It was a unique trait among any Cybertronian because the it was a matter of the spark and not the transformation cog to determine how many different alt modes you could have. And her optics…they had haunted me ever since we brought her into the brig so many Earth months ago.

Her left one was bright and alert, a golden-amber color that was deeper than the color of her sharp chevron. And her right…if you looked closely, you could see the outline of a scar trailing over the lens. And it was dimmed, but still as full of life as the left. And if you looked between the gaps of her full-faceplate battle mask, you could see hints of a scar, what looked to be connected.

"Order," Shockwave's monotone voice knocked me out of my look-over of the femme's frame. Her optics widened minutely, like she knew what was going to be said. However, I had no idea if it was because of fear or something else. "Find intruder and deactivate." Oh slag.

_I bet you didn't expect Sunstreaker to be the one to follow Thana. She might've saved his twin, but he still wants to get her for going back to the Con side. He does have quite the temper. Anyways, *ducks as a pot is thrown* sorry for the cliffhanger again. Have a great day! *runs like Captain Jack Sparrow to behind a couch*_


	20. Chapter 19

_Hey everyone. Hope your lives are good right now. I need to warn you, there is a swear word in here, kind of early, of the English kind. Thought you needed to know, because I don't like to swear in my stories, especially if it's in English. However, the statement wouldn't make any sense if I put in a different word. Just wanted to let you all know of that. Hope you are liking the story, and enjoy this new chapter. _

_**Chapter 19**_

I froze in muted horror when I heard Shockwave drone the order. An intruder. It had to be an Autobot. Obviously one who didn't know of the spectacular security system he had created. From what I knew of Autobot Red Alert, that mech's paranoia seemed insignificant compared to the one optic freak.

However, I had my orders, and coding deep inside my processor forced me to obey. I nodded, turning sharply to the door and running towards it. I heard Shockwave put in commands in the security system to lock down the underwater base, so the intruder couldn't escape. I ignored my emotions, moving solely on the command given to me. The scientist wouldn't interfere with my mission; _that_ much I knew.

As I ran down the halls, my wings trying to pick up anything that could be related to an Autobot, my processor was going through who would be _stupid enough_ to follow me. One of the higher-ups, like the Prime, wouldn't come. Neither would the TIC or the SIC, no matter if the latter thought I was his long-lost sibling or not. However, if these tire marks on the metal floor were anything to go off of, the mech couldn't have much, or no training in special operations what so ever. Sad, really. Everyone should at least be trained somewhat in every field possible. You never know what kind of situation you're going to find yourself in.

The security room door had been hacked, I surmised when I silently approached it. I knew everything about this base, so I could tell immediately when something had been tampered with. Checking the logs, the mech hadn't left yet, so he had to be in there. I didn't bother retracting my servos as I opened the door, it sliding into its cavity without noise. Before my optics could see the intruder, the sensors in my wings made my frame duck reflexively as a monitor was thrown my way.

Only when my optics land on the intruder did my spark stop. I wasn't on good terms with the Autobots, but deep inside, something told me that they were good bots. I couldn't harm them intentionally even if Shockwave ordered me to, which he did.

Sunstreaker stood there, armor flared, waiting for me to make the first move. Shockwave would be watching from the cameras, so I had to make a show of it. Maybe it wouldn't hurt teaching the frontliner a few manners about dealing a femme. Payback's a bitch.

"Hello, Sunstreaker," I said with all the politeness of a first introduction, but in a battle-ready stance. He didn't speak, only glared daggers at me. "So, who's going to start this dance?" I asked, quirking an optic ridge. It didn't surprise me when the sunshine yellow mech lunged at me after I got done speaking. In fact, I was more than ready.

Using his momentum against him, I stepped aside, throwing his larger frame to the floor with ease. It didn't take long for him to get his pedes back under him, and again he raced forward, but ended up tripping over my extended pede when I stepped to the side and pushed him once more. With a goading smirk I ran out the door, the frontliner eagerly following me, ready to rip me apart.

"Are you too scared to fight me, femme!" Sunstreaker shouted at my back as he shot in my direction.

"Nope!" I called back, taking a quick moment to peek over my shoulder. Fury was obviously written all over his faceplates. "Just getting warmed up!"

I didn't have enough time to slow down as a corner neared, so I ended up skidding, leaving large black paint marks. But I knew that even with my advantage of speed, agility, and knowledge of the base, it wouldn't last long. Back when I was forced to learn everything I could about the Autobots, I found out that the twins Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had wheeled pedes instead of normal ones. This meant that instead of running, they could instead skate over a longer distance rather than having to repeatedly hit the ground. While balance was then less than what most others had, you had to have an impeccable sense of it in order to be even able to 'walk.'

So, in a sense, if I didn't somehow keep my lead or managed not to get hit, maybe we wouldn't have to duke it out until I got us to the training room where there was more than enough space. Shockwave would get so ticked off if I wrecked something, even if I was trying to get rid of an intruder. And frankly, after this fight, that was sure to be brutal, I don't think I could stand another round of torture.

Eventually, I turned off into the training room, sensors feeding my processor everything before the mech skid into the room. A single camera moved, turning to watch the inevitable fight. Sunstreaker stalked up, royal blue optics burning crimson in the dim light, wheeled pedes crushing and kicking drone parts aside. He retracted his gun, releasing his servos to the still air. If he didn't want any weapons that were integrated into our systems to come into play, I would obey the unspoken request as long as he did. But that didn't mean I had to fight it clean.

We circled one another, like two predators ready for a death match. I only hoped it didn't come to that. One, I cherished my skid plate far too much and two, and while it might seem silly, he had to know _something_ about Colonel Thana Kalu. And if I had to hack into his processor, so be it.

Without warning, we lunged at the other at the same time. My talons dug into his armor, quickly becoming stained with the blue liquid that was our life substance. Sunstreaker also drew energon from me, his slightly dulled claws going for the acid wounds I still sported, as well as the gashes left behind from the electric whip. I growled lowly, surprising the larger mech with an upper cut to his jaw. His helm snapped back as he staggered backwards, a servo reaching up to feel his jaw. However, I gave him no such chance, and he met me halfway.

"Keep up the fighting, but keep your voice low," I whispered to him, barely audible over the clash of metal. He scowled, but kept up the act. "What do you know of Colonel Thana Kalu?" Like I predicted, he didn't answer, instead opting to try and cut a vital energon line running to my processor. Even weakening, I still had enough reflexes to avoid it, but it was too close for comfort. "I'm your only way out, _alive_," I stressed the last word. "Let me pretend to beat you, and I'll take you out to the water. Once we reach the surface, we can talk. Got it?" His nod was barely there, but I caught it.

The magnitude of our injuries was mostly superficial but energon had been drawn and now was splattered against the walls and the floor. The glow that it emitted lit areas of the darkened room like tiny spotlights. Occasionally, we would somehow backpedal to those areas, the only light being from the shed energon, which was weak but better than nothing.

I kept my wings half on the mech I fought and half on the cameras. Once they stopped moving, I would then give the signal to Sunstreaker. Eventually, my doorwings sensed that none of the cameras were following our movements anymore. This was my chance. I gave a slight, almost unnoticeable nod to the sunshine yellow twin and he caught it, replying with one of his own.

Our fight ended quickly, and I left Sunstreaker lying on the dirtied floor, trying to locate Shockwave. Even evil, emotionless, scientist/torturers had to recharge sometime. It was just something that couldn't be deleted from our primary coding. I walked over to the small monitor by the sliding door. Typing in code after code, I finally hacked into the system, quickly locating the one-optic mech. What the system said was that he was deep in recharge, most likely because he got bored of our fight. Good.

Without making a sound, we patched one another up quickly, I disengaged the alarm system, and we left through the only exit. I used my thrusters to get us to the surface quickly, and flew us to a nearby island. The Autobot contacted his comrades to pick us up, making sure to inform them that he had me captive.

"You know, it should be the other way around," I calmly said.

"Shut up," he muttered, but all heat had been beaten out of him. I couldn't help but smirk slightly.

"And that's why you don't mess with femmes." Payback complete.

… … … …

_Okay, so I decided to be nice for once and not leave you with such a bad cliffhanger. Comments, concerns, questions are always. I'm sorry I had that cuss word in there, but if I didn't, that last sentence wouldn't make as much sense as it does now. Forgive me._

_I hope everyone is doing okay. And if you ever need to talk, PM me or leave it in the reviews. I'll try my hardest to help, and if you just need to vent, I'm here for that, also. I just want you all to have a great day. So go out there and inspire awe!_


	21. Chapter 20

_I do not own anything. And I redid this chapter completely, thanks to some fantastic advice from my awesome beta, _**Alathea2**_. Hope you leave your comments and everything else in the reviews. Enjoy. _

_**Chapter 20**_

I looked around the area surrounding Sunstreaker and me. It was quite stunning, but also had a sense that it was something you could find anywhere. Strange organic…_things_ popped up from the fine grains that decorated much of the island. Shorter, green organic threads stayed well out of reach of the water, but stayed in the center near the other organics.

The sun was beating down on us as we sat on large rocks, awaiting the arrival of the Autobots. However, large grey clouds were starting the crowd the horizon. The non-existent breeze had slowly begun to pick up, but it was barely enough to ruffle the organics.

"What do you think is taking them so long?" I asked the mech beside me, trying to dispel the stiff, awkward air that sat between us.

"Ground bridge is broken," he muttered, cobalt optics taking in the scenery.

"That's a shame," I said. The clouds crept closer, but were still at a very safe distance. A storm was brewing, I knew. Starscream, who had taught me how to fly, in his own violent way, had told me that it was unsafe to fly in such conditions. On Earth, they had something called lightning, and if it struck you, it could do a number of possibly horrid things to metallic beings like us. "So…" I started uncomfortably, "How are things back at the base?"

Sunstreaker shot me a confused glare before going back to ignoring me. I wasn't on a mission, so I absolutely detested the silence. And with the silence, my thoughts slowly circled around to Colonel Thana Kalu. An interesting creature, that one. Proud and strong, yet weak. And I'm not talking in the physical sense. She had weaknesses, and refused to acknowledge them.

Much like me, in fact.

I wasn't invincible. I wasn't immortal. However, I acted as if I was, as if nothing could hurt me. But it could. I had anger issues, was impossibly stubborn, too self-assured, and pushed anyone and everyone away.

"Did you know Colonel Thana Kalu?" I watched the frontliner's expression carefully. The first emotion was to expected: confusion. It was just a natural response to something that wasn't expected. And I was ready for the next set: curiosity, anger, and even a bit of grief hung behind the stronger, more potent emotions.

"Why do you care?" he growled. I cycled air through my vents slowly, readying myself for what I was about to say. I didn't trust him, but I respected him and hoped that he would give me a straight answer.

"What if I told you I had…visions, for lack of a better term, through her optics…?" This caused Sunstreaker to snap his helm in my direction instead of staring out onto the open ocean.

"What do you mean…" but I cut him off before he could continue.

"I _mean_ like some nights when I recharge," if I can catch it, that is, "that it's like I look through her optics. I see what she sees, feel what she feels. Did you know her personally?"

It was a long wait until he spoke again. At first I had hesitated, thinking he was trying to concoct some stupid story to put together, to throw me off the trail. But as the silence reigned, I realized he was only gathering his thoughts.

"We weren't that close," he finally admitted after what seemed to be an eternity. "I saw her everyday on base, talked with her a couple times, but never really knew her. In fact, I think the only ones who did know the _real_ Thana was Prowl and Jazz."

"Really?" I hadn't expected that. "Why do you think that is?"

"Prowl was her guardian." That would explain why the SIC felt a need to be close to me, despite him calling me by his long-lost sibling's designation. There must've been something in me that reminded him of his charge. "And Jazz…I think he had a crush on her."

"A crush? What is that?" Stupid Earth lingo. That make up so many stupid words for even stupider things.

"It's when someone develops feelings for another. More than friendship or familial." I nodded in understanding, casting my golden-amber gaze over to the clouds that were still making their way towards us. However, if it went at the same rate, it wouldn't hit the island until a couple more Earth hours had passed.

"Why would he, an autonomous robotic organism, develop a crush on an organic Earthling?"

"Who knows," Sunstreaker shrugged. "He saw something he liked and couldn't stop from liking it more. But he never said anything. I think if he told Prowl…"

"…Prowl would whoop his skid plate across the Earth," I finished, and we shared a round of half-sparked chuckles. It became quiet once more, the only sounds being Sunstreaker's ventilations and the soft lapping of the water on the grains at our pedes. "What's your _personal_ evaluation of Thana?" He grimaced at my phrasing, but seemed too tired to respond any more physically than that. I couldn't help but agree. I was having a bit of a hard time holding onto consciousness myself. I swear, holding back a fight is harder than having an actual one.

"Quiet, reserved…suspicious," he added after a moments thought. "Didn't dare get emotionally close to anyone, baring Prowl. Maybe she opened up a little to Jazz, but I don't know."

"Nice femme?"

"Yeah."

"Did or do you have a crush on her?" I teased. The brightly colored mech whipped his gaze to me, his expression reading, 'What the…?'

"No," he answered sharply, as if I had offended him. I realized I had pushed too far in teasing him, so I muted myself, content just to grab a dead part of one of the taller organics and draw in the grains. It bothered me somewhat that I was actually relieved that I could hear the truth in his voice, and even more so that I was…happy that he didn't harbor any affections towards the one who haunted my recharge. From the picture I had painted of the Earthling and from what I knew and experienced with Sunstreaker, the pairing would never happen. Too many differences, not enough similarities.

"Tell me, what are these organics that surround us?" The frontliner turned bodily around to look at the green organics that swayed a little harsher in the growing breeze.

"The tall ones are called palm trees, and they are surrounded by grass," he explained to me, pointing them out. "We are sitting on rocks, the island is made of sand, that's the ocean, filled with corrosive salt water, and those are clouds that promise a bad storm." His tone carried a sarcastic bite that I ignored easily. I'm sure the water isn't that corrosive, considering us who would go down to the lab under it needed to always be in tip-top shape.

Neither of us spoke after that. Sunstreaker didn't offer any more insight onto Thana, and I didn't ask. It was obvious I had pushed one too many buttons on the volatile mech, and one more would push him into more physical means of anger. I didn't doubt that even as tired and energon-deprived as we both were, he still would've put up a decent fight.

Propping my helm in one servo, I drew with the part of the palm tree with the other. I really didn't know what I was drawing; my processor was blank and my servo kept moving to form different squiggles and lines and shapes. I stopped eventually, and began to study what I unconsciously drew in the sand.

I had traced a crude picture of my flying alt mode. I knew I could have two ground-based ones, but never had a chance to pick them out. Another was of the gun that killed Thana's creator, and another of the same airplane that Thana's adoptive brother flew. The last one, though, was more intricate than the others.

At a quick glance, it appeared to be a maze of sorts, complete with different shapes off of each little line. I felt like it went underground somehow, judging by the three sets of stairs I had drawn in with horizontal lines. The first level, it had to be ground level, was a rectangle, an opening, probably a doorway, at one end. Maybe it was kind of like a commons room, where one would make their last check to see if they had all their gear or where they could relax. A small room was in the farthest corner from the door, with stairs or a ladder going underground.

The next level had a main hallway, with a few different outcroppings where doors would be to go into the other rooms. Maybe these were conference rooms or supplies. The next level held five rooms of the exact same size. I don't know what they were possibly used for, but that didn't stop the chill that ran down my back. The fifth room had the last set of stairs or ladder next to it, outside of its door, in the hall. What I could only presume was a tunnel, was filled with twists and turns, and was quite long, if I did so say myself.

"What's that?" I nearly jumped; I had practically forgotten that the mech was there. Quickly berating myself for being so forgetful, reminding myself harshly that I'm supposed to be aware at all times, no matter what, I turned to Sunstreaker, who only looked at the pictures.

"That is my alt mode, an F/A-18 Hornet," I said, pointing to it. "That's the gun that killed her creator, a .22 revolver." It was obvious who _she_ was. "That's another Hornet, but it's the one her brother flew." I ignored the way the mech's cobalt optics jumped to mine, the stunned expression on his faceplates. "And _that_…well, I'm not quite sure _what_ it is, but I feel like it has something to do with Thana. Maybe one of the organic homes or bases she had to infiltrate, or something."

While Sunstreaker studied my drawings, I stood and walked to the other end of the small island, which was about forty or so paces from where the rocks that we were sitting on. If I wanted to be precise, it was 45 and a half paces, but still. I stretched my wings by moving them in broad sweeps, trying to ease the ache from the strained cables.

The clouds were much closer now, the breeze picking up to a steady light wind, bring with it the scent of rain. How I knew that particular scent was unknown to me, but it brought a sense of comfort with it. A prick made itself known in my processor, adding to the slow and steady increase of ache. I hadn't really realized it until now how little recharge and energon I had been getting. I must do something about that as soon as I can. All this pondering about Thana and question-and-answer game with Sunstreaker probably didn't help, though.

"When are the Autobots going to arrive?" I called back to the sunshine-yellow mech where he, too, had stood and was currently stretching.

"In a few Earth minutes. They're coming from this side." I nodded, just to let him know that I heard him, going back to observing the brewing storm. Flashes of light could be seen for a split second, the boom of thunder, reminding me of bombs, following 65 seconds after each flash. I didn't know how far that meant the storm was from here, but I was willing to say we only had a few Earth minutes until it hit the island.

Under my vents, I began to hum a tone to a song I didn't even know I knew. I didn't know the words, they just wouldn't come to me, but I just kept humming. I felt as if it had something to do with storms and hardships, but that's all I could gather.

The Autobots better get here soon because it's almost on top of us.

… … … …

_Well, there you go. I would like to point out that this was kind of a challenge, as well as the next chapter, to get at least 2000 words in. I managed it *__glares playfully at _**Alathea2**_* in 2018 words, so ha! I hope it was a nice insight into a whole bunch of stuff that I'm too lazy to name. Forgive me, please. And apparently, if you see lightning and thunder doesn't follow until 5 seconds afterwards, the storm is about a mile out from where you are. So I had picked a random number (13) and multiplied it to 5, to give me the seconds. The storm was about 13 miles out when she counted. And the song she was humming, I actually did have a song in my head. It's called _Every Storm Runs Out of Rain_ by _Gary Allen_. Great artist, if I do say so myself. Country music, if you wanted to know what __genera he's in. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it. Have a great day, everyone!_


	22. Chapter 21

_Another chapter, coming right up! I own nothing, unfortunately, because if I did, Jazz would never die in the movie. He's too cool for death. Also, don't get used to these quick updates. I had a moment of inspiration with this chapter, but sometimes it takes me a while to get it for another. Enjoy!_

_**Chapter 21**_

I glared at Jazz from across the medical bay where he sat comfortably, well, as comfortable as one could being injured and seen to by First Aid. I sat magnetized to a berth, utterly defenseless. The TIC knew I was glaring at him, having glanced up more than one time, and I could only hope I was unnerving him somehow.

The rescue mission didn't really go as planned. The Autobots were first delayed because of the storm and its ferocity, Skyfire having trouble fighting the whistling wind. Then, when they tried to land, the palm trees and waves kept making trouble, because the only place they could land was on the sand. Jazz and Sideswipe had jumped out, slapped stasis cuffs on me, and began to haul me towards Skyfire's hovering cargo bay. First Aid was still inside, shouting at us to hurry up.

The Twins got onto Skyfire, but it all broke loose when Jazz tried to lift me up. Maybe I did overreact, turning and kneeing him in the groin, followed by a two-fisted slap/punch courtesy of my cuffed servos. The rain was coming down in sheets by this time, making our vision kind of sloppy. Jazz then had gotten up, grabbed me by the throat, and snarled in my face not to do that again. I smirked behind my battle mask, not only because he didn't threaten anything, but also because I could and would do it again. I found the entire thing, minus him trying to pick me up, quite funny.

Thankfully, it seemed the silver mech had learned his lesson, jumping up first. Before I got up, I bent down and swung my linked servos under me, lifting my legs so that my servos would turn up in front of me rather than behind. When I looked back up, Skyfire was still none the wiser, First Aid and the Twins were gaping openly at me, and Jazz looked rather peeved. However, I could see the hint of pride in his visor, so it didn't bother me that much.

I offered my servos to the TIC, who grabbed the stasis cuffs between them, hauling me up. First Aid shouted something to Skyfire, because the bay door started to close, and I watched it, forming another small ache in my processor. It only increased the pressure, but I decided it was from lack of recharge and less than proper quality and quantity of energon. I don't know how Shockwave could run on the stuff. It doesn't do me anything!

So, that's how I ended up here, magnetized to a medical berth, tanks grumbling quietly, helm pounding, with a never-ending glare sent in Jazz's direction. But it had regained me some pride when Ratchet had laughed seeing the saboteur's dented groin plating and had asked what had happened. Like he couldn't put two and two together, considering I had some silver paint that matched the mech's paintjob perfectly still on my knee plating. The TIC had looked away, embarrassed, and didn't answer the medic's laughed out question. If Cybertronians could blush, I bet he would've.

Out of the entire rescue mission, four of us required longer stints in the med bay. First Aid was cleared immediately, considering he stayed inside of Skyfire, and the mech himself had taken careful consideration of the pounding waves and crazy trees. Sideswipe had some grit in his joints, as did Sunstreaker, so they were able to leave, after Sunstreaker got patched up, of course. That left Jazz and I, and we were currently in another glaring match until the lime green medic stepped between us. The scowl on his faceplates wasn't all that pleasant, but I had had worse.

"Excuse me, but you are in my way," I said calmly, emotionlessly, and he quirked an optic ridge up.

"How so?" he asked, servos on his hips, wrench in one of them. I was going to get him anyway, so might as well make it now instead of later.

"I was glaring at your TIC, wondering how long it would take before he collapsed in agony." Truthfully, I don't know what I said to make the old medic look surprised for a second or two, then start barking out laughter. My jaw clenched behind my mask, optics squinting at the mech in annoyance. It wasn't funny. It wasn't meant to be funny. Sarcastic, maybe, but not funny. Maybe the medic had one too many screws loose.

First Aid and Jazz looked up, surprised, to see the normally cussing medic _laughing_, and at something an enemy had said, no less. But it wasn't funny!

"Alright, let's see what damage you have," he said after he finally composed himself, setting his expression to its normal scowl. He pounded out my dents and reattached and sealed energon lines, swearing at me, at my situation, and just generally cussed. He berated me for being so stupid, for doing this, or not doing that, and I tuned him out almost completely. Not fully, mind you, because that would just be stupid, not to mention suicidal.

Eventually, I was released to Prowl's custody, and instead of taking me to the brig, he took me to his office. Confused but willing to just roll with the flow, for now, I followed, not complaining. When we reached it in the most direct way possible, because they didn't want me to know _everything_ about the _Ark_, even if I did anyway. The black and white unlocked his office, stepping aside to let me go through first. Nothing was amiss, so I stepped through, glad that no prank had jumped out on me. But then again, this is the SIC, and has to be extremely observant. If he did get pranked, I would feel like I failed.

Woah, where did _that_ come from? Why would I feel like I _failed_? There is no reason for that. None whatsoever. All this was making my helm pound harder, and I resisted the urge to grab it in pain. However, it seemed that Prowl noticed, and was watching me with some concern. I shook my head, don't do that again, I reminded myself, and sat down in one of the chairs across from the golden-optic-ed mech. Just then, Jazz walked in without an invitation in, and plopped himself into the other chair next to me. I sat back, noting that these chairs seemed to shift if one had wings or not. Why couldn't they have this down in the brig? It would make me so much more comfortable when I inevitably had to go back down there.

"Your designation is WOMD-1, is that correct?" Prowl asked, emotions seemingly wiped clean from his tone and faceplate.

"Why would you want to know? And where would you come up with a designation like that?" I questioned, avoiding Prowl's. Jazz shifted in his seat beside me, but I kept my optics on the SIC. Seriously, I loved this chair. It kept my wings propped up, but in a comfortable position so I didn't have to strain to keep them up. I was well aware that Prowl enjoyed this comfort, too.

"Sunstreaker told me," he answered simply, "after he was released from the med bay. You caused quite a bit of ruckus, I might add."

"Why? Because his paint was scratched and his plating dented?" Judging by the amused light in both the golden optics and the blue visor to my right, I was correct. "My guess is that he ran everyone's audios off with his ceaseless whining." Again, I was right, because Jazz was holding back a snicker and Prowl was keeping a pretty tight hold on a smirk that was threatening to show.

"Wha' do ya know of Shockwave?" Jazz asked, turning his seat towards me.

"Much more than you, I'm guessing," I answered, half-evading the question thrown at me. There was coding that the torturer had put into me, not letting me say too much about him or his plans. I'm too smart and observant for my own good, and he knew that, but if he deleted those things from my processor, I wouldn't be as good as I am now, all pride aside. In order to keep me from saying too much, he put a code into my processor to cut my vocalizer off if I was getting too close to saying something he didn't want spoken. And it wasn't as easy as saying that they should get rid of this virus he had implanted, either. It prevented me from even speaking of it.

"Like wha'?" Darn. I tried to say something, but all that was released was static, confusing my interrogators. I guess I couldn't really call them that, since they had done no damage to me. I shook my head, I thought I wasn't going to do that again, and looked to my left at the wall. I froze, my optics catching sight of a holopic that sat on a self with datapads that spoke of rules and regulations. I stood, ignoring the confused looks directed at my back, and walked over to the shelf.

The holopic was of Prowl, Jazz, and the Earthling femme that haunted my recharge. It was somewhere outside, dawn or dusk, with heavy clouds either coming in or going out. Prowl stood to the left, Jazz on the right, and Colonel Thana Kalu sat on her guardian's shoulder. She had a crooked smile on her squishy face, the TIC was grinning brightly, and the SIC not much more than his charge. My vision then blacked out suddenly.

"_Aww, come on!" whined Jazz, dramatically sagging himself to the ground. I quirked an eyebrow, as did my guardian, as we watched our friend continue to whine and moan and groan about not being able to take a picture with us. "Please!" he begged, actually getting down on his knees, clasping his servos together, and shaking them up at us. Ratchet was going to give him crap for getting sand in his joints…again._

"_If we want to save our ears, we might as well," I said to Prowl, sitting on his shoulder, looking at him. He carefully turned him helm to look at me, considering both our stupidly dramatic friend and me. "Then you can put it in your office. I'm not even as bad as you."_

_Finally, he relented, and we took the picture, Jazz already having an oversized camera on him. I think I need to have a talk with him. He must stop this planning. First it was getting a picture of us three in Prowl's office, then his, then the Command Deck, and the rec room, and now outside. I'm sorry, Jazz, but if Prowl wants to shoot your silver skid plate, I'm not stopping him. We both hate getting our pictures taken, and you are starting to push it. I might just even shoot you with something._

_After the picture, the mechs folded down into their alt modes on the dry sand and I climbed in Prowl. We have these races back to the _Ark_, with me actually driving one of them, to see who could beat whom. Jazz and I have cheated before, with him actually putting some of his own mech power into it, but that doesn't mean Prowl and I haven't done the same thing. We are just subtler about it. _

_Thunder boomed behind us, signaling its approach on Diego Garcia, and the mechs revved their engines just after it. Prowl turned on his comm link with Jazz so the other could hear me shout 'go.' We launched off, neck and neck, neither giving any ground, nor gaining any. Prowl turned off his comm and spoke to me so Jazz couldn't hear us. He has some of the most impressive audios I've ever seen, because we always have to keep our voices down when we want to cheat to win. If we spoke normally, he would hear us, even over their powerful roaring engines!_

"_Ready, bro?" I whispered excitedly, glancing over at Jazz. I bet he knew what he thought was coming. But this time, we had a new tactic. _

"_Yes," he said, excitement clear in his monotone voice. I gave Prowl a little more gas, getting Jazz to think we were going to overtake him now. It was too soon, but what harm is a little embellishment? He revved, but right when I noticed he was confused, I turned on the NOS. The nitrous oxide system Prowl and I shot forward, kicking up sand, leaving the Porsche in the dust. I drifted to a stop, and we patiently waited for Jazz to show up, which he did, not too much later. I got out of my guardian's alt mode, waiting patiently for both mechs to finish their transformations. Jazz hit us with a piercing glare, but we were unfazed by it._

"_Tha' was a dirty trick," he pointed a digit at us accusingly. I walked up to him and patted his pede, my crooked smirk plastered on my face._

"_Yes, yes it was." Jazz's façade broke as he fell into roaring laughter, even my guardian joined in, but not as crazily as my friend. I was content just to chuckle, happy that nothing lasting had happened. Then again, Jazz isn't one to hold grudges._

I blinked my optics many times, the...flashback ending and my vision filling with the sights of the steel grey wall of Prowl's office and the filled shelf. I was swaying slightly on my pedes, and someone, I think it was Jazz, brought me back to my chair and made me sit down. Instantly, I was filled with the sight of two concerned mechs, before I groaned and slid down in my seat. My processor hurt like _crap_!

… … … …

_Well, there you have it. Part of the present day and a flashback. I thought it would be interesting to see another part of the trio, meaning Prowl, Jazz, and Thana. And the picture had provided me with a perfect slot. If you still don't know what NOS is (say it like a word, not the letters), look it up. Used commonly in the_ Fast and Furious _movie series, it gives the vehicle a boost of speed until it is worn out or closed off from the engine. Oh, and I highly recommend watching the series. It's too good not to see! I__ don't want to give anything away, but something big is going to come up, and hopefully you'll laugh. I'm going to make references to different things, so be ready. Leave your comments and stuff in the reviews, please, because I do love reading your thoughts. Have a great day, everyone!_


	23. Chapter 22

_I own nothing, but that isn't anything new. Thanks to everyone who left their reviews or comments. It means a lot to me. Well, here's the next chapter. Have fun!_

_**Chapter 22**_

All my systems began to boot up quickly as I came out of stasis. For just a moment, my processor was foggy enough that I wondered if my brother had gotten back home. That caused me to pause. Brother? I didn't have a brother. I ignored it for a time when I could think just a bit more clearly and had time to do so. My memory caught up with me, and I began to review the files that had been suppressed until now.

Prowl and Jazz had brought me in, again, to Ratchet, because they managed to get me to say my helm was pounding something fierce. So, the…kind doctor put me in medical stasis, which didn't go over too well with me, and proceeded to go inside my processor.

I don't know what he found, but as I sat up on my elbows, the medic walked over to me, handed a pain chip over and left to continue talking in his office with the Prime, SIC, and TIC. And as every Earth minute ticked by, because I was watching the funny looking chronometer on the wall, I became more and more peeved.

This was my frame, my processor, and dang it, I deserved to know what was going on! I would've marched right in there, making my will known, but that stupid brightly colored medic had foreseen me doing something as such, and had engaged the magnetic field. And it felt at that moment, when I had discovered I was unable to move due to the restraints, that a flame of anger was ignited. Well, maybe not ignited, but…it had been dying, and the discovery just made it grow stronger pretty fast.

All fire metaphors aside, it just felt like an old wound was being reopened, and I was quite irritated with that. So, I waited not so patiently, and the moment the restraints were disengaged, I slid off the medical berth, opting to stand after what seemed like an eternity of sitting down.

"What did you discover when you went inside my processor, Ratchet?" I was quick to ask, and I noticed that everyone seemed amused, to a different degree, of course.

Ratchet then began explaining to me what he had found. At first, it had been very difficult to even make a small hole in my firewalls so he could go deeper inside because a virus, a pretty nasty one, at that, kept attacking _me_ instead of him. However, he quickly found out a way to cause it to go dormant for a little while, and then entered my processor. He found the virus and had called in Jazz, who was as close to an expert of Shockwave's viruses as any Autobot could be.

It wasn't easy, he told me, to isolate it and create a 'corral,' for lack of a better term, to keep it by itself for the time being. He said he found a large file, but it was heavily encrypted, so much so that if Jazz tried to decrypt it, I could loose whatever the file held, and it might change my whole personality.

Back to the virus, it was specifically designed to cause the host much pain if someone tried to hack or even calmly enter their processor. Why it caused the host so much agony, Ratchet couldn't find any explanation other than maybe punishment.

To me, that made perfect sense. If I got caught and the Autobots wanted to hack me, Shockwave could punish me without doing it so with his own servos. It was probably to get me to turn against any potential allies if I decided to side with them. Everyone knows that defectors have to undergo many, usually extensive, processor exams. Any and all privacy was taken away, because you had to lay yourself before the one in your processor, and you can't fight.

Well, you could if you wanted, but there goes any meager trust you had gained up to that point.

So, while I was under, and the virus in its cage, both mechs 'examined' it, 'probed' it, and 'observed' it. They said it was one of the most complex, dangerous, cruel viruses that the one-optic mech had created to date.

Ratchet told me I had been in medical stasis for three Earth days, because they had to remove it slowly and carefully, to make sure it didn't mutate, get into their processors, or anything else bad had happened. Before they had pulled out and brought me out of stasis, Jazz had taken one last 'look' at the encrypted file. From what he could determine, without destroying whatever lay behind its walls, that the password was long and multipart.

I didn't even know the password, for crying out loud! I could only hope that it would come to me someday soon.

"So, you got it out?" I asked slowly, not sure what the medic was getting at. Did they remove it or not? Seriously. I never thought it would be hard to say, 'Hey, we got that virus out of you, and your helm shouldn't hurt anymore. Have a great day.'

"With limited success, yes," he answered, and I glanced at him skeptically.

"What do you mean by that?" Prowl decided to speak up just then.

"The virus could only be removed partially. We simply do not have the equipment that Shockwave has to remove it completely. Until we are able to infiltrate his lab, you will have to take care of yourself. And if your processer starts to hurt, even a little bit, you are to report to the med bay to receive a pain chip and a check up."

"You aren't my commanding officer," I snapped, which was quite a feat considering my monotone voice hadn't wavered.

"You are under the jurisdiction of the Autobots. While you have no official rank, you are still to follow orders to the letter. Do you understand?"

"I understand," and for a moment they all looked pleased. "_But_ that doesn't mean I will comply." I resisted the urge to smirk at their amused and angered faceplates.

"Is there a designation we may call you by?" the blue and red Prime asked, deep blue optics boring into my own golden-amber ones. I thought for a moment, but no designation came to the fore of my processor. Maia…no, I knew nothing of the femme, and wished not to take hers. Thana…that one seemed to fit. I felt as if I had been called that for a very long time. However, I did not think the Autobots would appreciate calling me by the designation of their deceased friend.

"Pardus," I answered suddenly. I don't know where it came from, but it carried a friendly, warming feeling with it. All four mechs looked confused, but it was the silver saboteur that requested for me to repeat myself. I said it again, and they exchanged confused, but hopeful, glances. Ratchet's optics went slightly dim, something I contributed to talking on a comm link.

"It means leopard in Latin," he answered, and I almost didn't catch myself cocking my helm slightly in confusion. What is _Latin_? I voiced my question, and recognition filled everyone's optics.

Optimus left, saying he needed to continue on his work, that some man, I didn't catch the name, was coming. Ratchet explained to me how to access the human World Wide Web, how to look up different languages, and integrate them into myself. Once done so, he left, gesturing to Prowl and Jazz to take me out.

"Can you talk in English for us?" the black and white asked of me. It was only then did I realize that he wasn't talking in Cybertronian any longer, but in one of the many languages I had downloaded.

"Sure I can," I said, not missing the wide grin that broke across the TIC's faceplate, and the small smile of satisfaction that threatened to make itself known on the SIC's faceplate. We continued back down to Prowl's office, talking in English to help me get used to speaking in the complicated language. Jazz informed me that if I wanted to say something to someone when the humans were around, but didn't wish for them to know what I was saying, I should speak in our native glossa. Even the humans who had known and become friends with the Autobots the longest still didn't know any words in Cybertronian.

… … …

"Pardus!" I didn't stop attacking the holograms in the training room when I heard my parole officer call my chosen designation. The black and white patiently waited until I finished tearing apart two large hologram mechs, their frames disappearing in a shimmer. He pressed a button on the hologram controls, stopping the bots from appearing, but keeping the scenery in place.

I hadn't the faintest clue why I picked such a strange spot that I had never been to. Tall, old-looking trees clung to life up on what had to be the top, or near the top, of a mountain. One could see for many Earth miles, but that was just what the hologram made it appear like. It had also painted a small building made out of dirt down the mountainside a ways. When I had logged in and put my chip of chosen holograms that had been given to me by Prowl or I had created myself, this one just seemed like the right one to pick.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" I asked formally, if not a bit sarcastically, and the quick, almost nonexistent glint in his amber optics told me he heard it.

"I came to see if you wanted a real spar." His white servo hovered over the controls, like he wanted to change the hologram and was awaiting my permission. At my nod, the mountain flitted out of existence, revealing something I had never seen before. It appeared to be a dojo of some sort, the curved walls being adorned by swords and other weapons of all shapes and sizes.

"What is this place?" I asked curiously, my good optic taking in everything. My right one had gone on the fritz again, so I couldn't see out of it, throwing my whole depth perception and such for a tailspin. The whitewash walls held flowing crimson drapes, the platform was raised, and it gave the appearance of not even holding a door.

"The Diffusion dojo I had trained in back on Cybertron," he answered in his usual monotone, optics quickly sweeping over the place. I turned back to my parole officer, mimicking the bow he proceeded to do. He got into a fighting stance and soon I was in one, too, but slightly different than his. He was larger in size compared to me, with wings of a different size and shape in relation to mine.

"I am not familiar with Diffusion," I informed him as we circled on the edge of the platform. "Now, are we playing nice, or fighting dirty?"

"The first option," he wisely chose, because I could rip him _in half_ if he chose the latter. We lunged at one another in perfect symmetry, deflecting blows while still trying to deliver our own. But as time wore on, we began to fight dirtier, just how I liked it. We kicked out one another's legs, attempted upper cuts and other moves that would be directed at the faceplates. However, we followed our unstated agreement of leaving the wings and chevrons untouched. That would be reserved for an actual battlefield.

"Whoa, can Ah get tickets er somethin'?" came a cheery voice, and both Prowl and I stopped with synchronized movements. Our piercing glares quickly sought out Jazz, who was near the door, arms crossed in front of his chassis, leaning against the wall. I ventured a step forward, ready to go on the offensive, my energon still singing with excitement of an actual spar. Before I could make another move towards the best friend of the black and white tactician, his servo reached out and touched my arm lightly. It was enough to hold me back, vents working to cool my frame down from its heated state.

"Is there something you need, Jazz?" he asked coolly, and the aforementioned bot's visor and jaw hardened. Cables, lines, and wires tightened in anticipation of what the silver mech was about to say.

"We're leaving fer 'nother battle, somewhere in Mexico. But…" he trailed off, looking at me, it seemed, even though his visor was covering his optics. "Shockwave's there."

… … … …

_There you go, another cliffhanger. *Ducks as an iron gets thrown at head.* Geez, sorry! It was the only spot I could stop at! *Various pots and pans are thrown in general direction.* No, stop it! Next chapter is going to be a bit gory, so hang onto your shorts! Have a great day! *Drops to the floor as a table flies through the air.* Anyone got a bunker?!_


	24. Chapter 23

_And now, what you've all been waiting for…drum roll please…another chapter! Woohoo! __**Warning**__: Please note that this chapter does get a bit gory, so if you are sensitive to that kind of stuff, I suggest you find a way around this chapter then. Sorry for the inconvenience. Oh, and there is also a Cybertronian swear word. All right, I'll let you get on with it, but remember, I don't own anything but my OC. Another note to make, I got the idea of a medic being able to online comms and weapons from my beta and awesome friend, _**Alathea2**_._

_**Chapter 23**_

I followed closely behind Prowl and Jazz as we sped-walked to the ground-bridge room. A kindly mech by the designation of Wheeljack had gotten it up and running again, but it was still somewhat unstable, so we all had to jump through the swirling portal quickly when it was finally activated.

"Who's all going to fight Shockwave?" I asked emotionlessly, all the while planning ways to make the one-optic freak pay for the seemingly endless agony he had forced upon me.

"Jazz, the Twins, Bluestreak, Ironhide, First Aid, Smokescreen, Skyfire, and you," my parole officer answered as we entered the crowded room. Jazz stood beside me as Prowl made his way up to where the engineer was standing, helm fins flashing a slightly alarmed blue. I watched as the tactician made sure all were accounted for and preceded to tell us in a condensed version of whom we would be facing out there.

Shockwave was a dead giveaway, but there were some mechs that I couldn't care less about, and a large group of drones, but the number was unknown. As the black and white ran over what we were to do, Jazz's faceplate bent down to my audio, but didn't give the impression to anyone else that he was about to speak to me, quiet enough that only we would hear.

"Ya will be watched closely. Don't frag up this chance," he growled softly, I nodded a bit so he'd know I heard him, and then we both straightened as First Aid came up to me hesitantly. Spotting that the TIC was next to me, well within the distance to restrain me if so, he reached to my neck where I obediently shifted the protective armor away from the port. Slowly, he plugged into me, deactivating the blocks on my weapons and a comm system I didn't even know I had. As he pulled his mind from mine and withdrew the cable, the armor snapped over protectively and I nodded my thanks to the skittish medic.

Wheeljack pulled the lever that activated the swirling vortex of greens, blues, and purples, and all of us ran through it. Our weapons could be heard warming up as we dashed towards it. Just as Jazz and I made our way through it, it was obvious that it was beginning to…well, break. We practically dove our way out, onto the hard rock and gritty sand in a country called Mexico.

The large, blinding sun was dipping down in the west, but was still in full view. It cast the beginnings of a sunset, its golden-yellow rays starting to turn the sky into light shades of cherry red and soft pink. This was making it a bit harder to see, but we still spotted the Decepticons, already charging at us. There were no Seekers to be concerned with, so the frontliner twins launched themselves bodily at two mechs that were unfortunate enough to wander a bit too close to them. Bluestreak scrambled for high ground, as did Smokescreen and First Aid. Skyfire leapt into the air gracefully, doing a wide turn to come back and pepper the purple-marked forces.

Jazz and Ironhide joined in the fray beside the Terror Twins, ripping drones in half and shooting deadly plasma at the mechs. Shockwave stood far from the action, a small device that was obscured from my direct vision clutched between both servos. A digit moved, and pain flared in my processor, but it only succeeded in helping me decapitate two drones with my servos-turned-swords. It also restored my vision in my bad optic to its normal, barely operational status.

Oil was splattered on my frame from the drones, the black liquid blending almost seamlessly with my non-reflective, midnight black paintjob. The drones were set at a caliber I had been trained to fight against. Shockwave must have thought that the numbers could overwhelm me, seeing as I never fought more than five at a time. However, he underestimated me as I shot two with one plasma bullet, sliced the helm off of another, threw daggers at three more, and ripped out the functioning mechanism that kept the drone operational from the last.

By the time I got through my second large group of drones, the pain in my processor flared again, threatening to make me stumble, to loose my edge that I had against the Decepticons. I ignored it as best as I could, grinding my denta together tightly as I finally met up with a real mech, one that bared a spark instead of a steel gray, box-like unit.

A quick glance-over, a fraction of a nanoclick, was all I needed to know who this mech was. His designation was Crumblelock; he was unattractive, as far as my tastes were concerned. His color scheme was a disgusting jumble of pale yellows, horrid reds, scratched grays, and blotchy blacks. His crimson optics bore the telltale signs of a disturbing sense of _desire_ for pain and spilled energon.

His death would be swift to spare me any more moments of having to put my optics on his horribly designed frame and unnerving optics.

Crumblelock shot two missiles at me, but they missed as I ducked and rolled, tucking my wings tightly to my back. In turn, I sent a volley to him, only scorching him as it whizzed by his helm, missing only by the scantest of distances, before exploding on the ground behind him, creating yet another crater.

Transforming the blaster back into my servo, I reached into my subspace and chucked a dagger at him. It imbedded itself deep into his left leg strut, the mech roaring in pain. It gave me just enough time to get my pedes under me and race the short distance. I had both swords out now, swinging methodically at him. Sometimes, I only nicked the horrid looking mech, others I gave him a large, nasty gash. He landed a few hits, a couple stabs, and even hit the right side of my helm once. That contact had left me blind in my right optic again, causing me to become frustrated. Sometimes I really wanted to just tear out the optic because it annoyed me so much.

I heard Smokescreen call over the comms that Shockwave was ordering a retreat just as my right servo plunged into the mutilated chassis of Crumblelock. I ignored the call for the time being, digits curling around the spark that didn't deserve to resonate in this chassis. The pale aqua spark shattered as I tightened my fist, bursting inside the mech even as I retracted my servo. His cry of shock, agony, and fury rang in my audios even as his frame fell to the crater and body littered ground with a crash. His glowing blue energon stained my armor, mixing with the drone oil that had already covered me. I watched as his scarlet optics flickered one last time before going out for good, his frame beginning to cool already.

Dusk had turned into early evening. The sun was gone from the horizon, the last rays clinging to the sky that had once been theirs as the inky darkness began to overtake the spot where they had once ruled. Stars were already shining in the east, the half moon shining like its companions.

The twinges of pain in my processor had dimmed to become almost nonexistent, but something else kept the throbbing from retreating completely. As I slowly made my way across the battlefield towards the others where they were regrouping, I understood why. Somewhere, back in the recesses of my mind, where I had been forbidden to go by some unknown, unconquerable force, way back in there I knew the reason. I had killed before, and always with remorse. That part I didn't understand why, some just didn't deserve it, but all life was precious. It was all created by two beings who had become one for just that short amount of time to create something magical, something unique. And to take that away…it burned my insides, my spark clenching painfully. But it didn't show on the outside. No one could see how weak I was, no matter if I did consider them on my side, or I on theirs.

Skyfire informed us that the ground bridge was out, so we would have to fly back to Diego Garcia. As we loaded ourselves into his cargo bay, First Aid was already doing repairs. For such a heavily spilled energon battle, little of it came from us. We still had our fair share of injuries, ranging from strained joints to burned plating. We all held still as the CMO's apprentice attended to the wounds that he had the supplies for. The rest would have to wait until we got to the base.

… … …

I waited somewhat patiently on my medical berth, waiting for either Ratchet or First Aid come by and patch me up. I wanted to scrub off the oil and energon from the fight, because it itched and served to remind me of that life I took. Drones are just what their name implies. They do not house a spark or a processor, but contain enough functions to be able to follow the orders of a master assigned to them or of a fraction in which they are made by. Mechs, though, they think and feel. They experience loss and love, pain and happiness. To take a life away…

"It doesn't seem you've been seen to," the lime green medic's rough voice dragged me away from my depressing thoughts. I shook my head a bit, but enough to let him know that I hadn't been. First Aid was still working on Jazz, who had some burned plating and a couple lacerations. The CMO nodded and wheeled over a small cart that held a number of strange looking tools that I was hesitant to let near me. However, I didn't budge a human inch when the tools seemed to fly from his servos, to me, and back again to the cart.

He popped the dents out of my frame, welded the few cuts I had received, and took a look at my optic. Needless to say he wasn't the happiest mech in the room when I told him about my bad optic going on the fritz. The brightly colored medic told me after studying it for a bit that the damage was too great. I could get my optics removed and have an optical band, something that was similar to a visor, but didn't retract. I voted against it. I rather liked my optics, and I had told him as such.

Ratchet tried to fix what he could, but like he said, it wasn't something that he could fix by rewiring a new optic in or without taking both out completely. But what I think got him riled up the most was the fact that he couldn't understand _why_ my optic seemed to have a mind of its own. He couldn't even whip up a code or a patch that could somehow help control when it blacked out; it was that confusing to the older bot.

Still, I gave him my thanks and made my way to the public washracks. Officers had their own, but the ranks had to share. Deep inside, back in that unexplored place, it told me that it actually didn't bother me. I had a fleeting thought that I should be disgusted, creeped out, or even mildly alarmed that I had to share the washracks with a whole bunch of _mechs_, but it didn't. It felt…normal, actually, although I couldn't understand why.

Nevertheless, as I entered the room, the sound of faucets running assaulting my audios, I went to the one farthest away from them. It may feel normal, but it was still kind of weird for a mech to see me, a femme, scrubbing away at my armor.

Systematically, I washed, scrubbed, and picked at the dried energon and oil until my armor was spotless once more. I was just taking one last rinse, making sure I got all the flakes and suds off of me, when I looked down at my servos. They were stained lightly with blue, with life-energon. I just kind of…stared. My processor supplied me with the notion that I should've been freaking out, scared, anything other than acceptance.

The truth was, I think that I was used to it. I had another mini flashback, as I had begun to call them. Instead of metal servos, I was staring at fleshy human hands. The hands were coated with a red liquid, blood as the Earthlings called it. The hands washed the blood away, the substance flowing down a drain. When the hands came back into view, they were clean. However, there was that slight tint of red, imbedded into the tanned skin.

It was illusion, I knew when I came to. But it was the fact that it didn't bother me that unnerved me the most.

… … … …

_Sometimes, I guess, seeing so much blood, killing so many, it does things to your brain. You see the blood on your hands, staining them, reminding you constantly of all the lives you took. I do hope you enjoyed it and heeded my warning from earlier. Leave your comments/questions/concerns in the reviews, please. I really enjoy reading them. No matter what, they always cheer me up. Also, constructive criticism is always appreciated. And thank you to everyone who has left a review and has been reading my story(ies). Don't forget my awesome beta, _**Alathea2**_. Have a great day all!_


	25. Chapter 24

_Another chapter. I don't own anything. I got the idea of the processor scan from my beta, _**Alathea2**_. Enjoy._

_**Chapter 24**_

After Ratchet came by with his report from the medical bay, describing the injuries each suffered today, I sat at my desk, looking over everything. All that fought would have the rest of the day off, light duty tomorrow, and would be back on full duty the next day.

As I reached the end of the report, I found the last designation was that of my charge, Pardus. The Chief Medical Officer wrote in great detail of her, and I quote, "fragging fritzy optic." Apparently, he had made suggestions to the black plated femme, such as removing her optics and replacing them with an optical band. However, she declined because "she liked her fragging optics so much." While I am sure she never actually used those exact words, the medic did like to incorporate his input into the reports, the message was clear. She rather have an optic that didn't work correctly than make herself different.

Another thought entered my processor: Where was Pardus? I had already gotten the reports from my fellow Autobots, but I still needed to question her. Protocol demanded it. And while I loathed subjecting the femme to a processor scan, it needed to be done. My comrades did not trust her as much as I did. I rose from my desk, pushing my chair back, sending a location ping to Pardus. It was almost an Earth minute before she pinged me back, telling me she was in the public washracks.

Odd. I had thought everyone had left there by now. Nonetheless, I made my way down there. They were near the front of the _Ark_, so those returning from patrol or from a battle did not have to track energon or dirt throughout the ship.

Slowly, I entered the room, the humidity quite low despite the sound of running water. The sound originated from the far end of the oblong room, so I walked cautiously, my doorwings providing information. I might trust Pardus more than my fellow officers, but that did not mean I was without suspicion. More than half of Decepticon defectors turn their back struts on the Autobots, usually by attacking a senior ranked bot first. It is why we have implanted such a stressful transitioning period from probation to actual rank; to draw out those who wish to still destroy our forces.

However, no attack ever came. Instead, I found my charge standing under the water, by now an ice-cold rain, staring at her servos, a haunted expression upon her faceplates. I deliberately made my last few steps louder, which caused her to whirl around. I could hear a faint clicking sound, one that I knew came from one trying to activate weapons that weren't allowed.

"Prowl," she whispered, nothing in her voice. It was as empty as her optics seemed to be.

"May I ask why you were staring at your servos?" I asked, half-wondering if she would flat out refuse to let me know. But her contemplation on her servos once more shot that thought down.

"I…I don't think you would understand," she finally answered, golden-amber optics locking with mine. I reached over towards her, and she stiffened, wary of my movements. However, I meant no harm. Turning off the water, I could see her repress a shiver as the freezing water was replaced with the somewhat warmer air.

"I will not understand if you do not give me a chance," I replied, studying her expression. It was as closed as mine, but there were cracks, ones that reminded me of my last charge one year, four months, and 23 days ago, before she was taken from us, from me. Mentally, I shook myself from those thoughts, instead focusing my attention onto the femme before me. "Pardus?" I prompted after she stayed silent.

For a moment, that one fleeting second, something flared behind those shining optics. It made my spark shutter. I'm sure she didn't realize it, but I saw something that reminded me of…of Thana. Everlasting agony, too much for one to bear, rested behind the fragile glass of her optics. That pain is only sprinkled by a few moments of true happiness. Far too soon, for me to point out, not that I could, the look disappeared, as if it had never been there. The wall was back up once more, shielding her from the outside world.

"Do you ever see something that's not there?" Pardus asked, still standing straight and stiff, optics settling on some point on the wall behind me.

"I do not understand." She sighed through her vents, steeling herself even more. "You must be more specific in what you mean," I quickly added. "I do not understand what you mean by 'something that is not there.'" Her wings lost some of their tenseness, but still were held proudly behind her back.

"I know this sounds crazy, but I thought I had energon staining my servos." Her ventilations noticeably stopped after blurting out her problem. Her optics widened a millimeter in size, her wings becoming much more stiff, too. I rolled the statement around in my advanced processor, dismissing something that my late charge had told me long ago.

"No," I answered after a moment. "It is not crazy. Many Autobots have experienced the same illusion that you speak of. I, too, have thought that our life-sustaining substance had stained my servos. But was that not your first mech that you deactivated?" Pardus nodded.

"Yeah, he was, but…I'm not creeped out. But shouldn't I be frightened, not accepting it? It just feels like I've lived with before, that I've killed before, but I'm more concerned that I am not scared or anything like that." I noticed that she was rambling so much, that it almost rivaled the babbling that my youngest brother never ceased. I almost offered a small smile, and although I didn't, by the twitch in her lip plates, she had caught my almost slip.

"I may not have the answers you seek, but I'm sure it will be revealed in time." She nodded, accepting my reply. "Come, you have another processor examination to undergo." The femme nodded again in understanding.

I stepped out from the public washracks, leaving her be as she dried herself. It didn't take her very long, but the moment her second pede exited the room, the intruder alarm sounded. Stifling a sigh from my vents, something I had unconsciously picked up from observing the humans, I remembered that Pardus had yet to meet Red Alert, our paranoid Chief Security Officer. The mech had been with Inferno on a short road trip, and every time Pardus managed to be at the base, Red Alert wasn't. In fact, she was supposed to meet him today.

:: Prowl to Red Alert, please turn off the alarms. :: I commed the red and black CSO calmly.

:: There's an _intruder_ right next to _you_! :: Red Alert all but screamed into the comm link.

:: She is no intruder. :: I motioned to the femme to follow me as I started to make my way to the debriefing that was to be held soon. I opened another comm link with Inferno, telling him to calm his sparkmate and meet all of us officers in Conference Room Two. :: It will all be explained in good time, Red Alert, all in good time. ::

Knowing the mech for vorns, even before the war, had me conscious of the fact that he would still be fritzing about Pardus, intruders, and such. We would have to arrive soon, before Ratchet saw fit to throw a wrench at my helm.

"Talking on the comm?" Pardus asked as the sirens turned off. "Geez, what was that?"

"Intruder alarm," I said. "We must go, lest we make Red Alert suffer longer than needed."

"Red Alert? Hm, the paranoid conspiracy theorist with a glitch in the processor." Jazz had told me, after her escape, that she had most likely hacked into our systems, taking everything she could, and leaving not a single trace. I had heard the awe in my friend's voice as he explained it to me, hidden beneath much frustration. "Where has he been all this time? I know I have not met every mech aboard the _Ark_, but I would've expected to meet him sooner than now."

"Every time you had…made yourself company, he had been gone on other errands." The latest being a much needed vacation for the sparkmates. The femme nodded, her golden-amber chevron glinting in the artificial lighting in the halls. I typed in the code when we arrived, letting her enter first. Red Alert let out a cringe-worthy screech at the sight of the femme.

"W-Why is she not in _stasis cuffs_?" he almost yelled, Inferno trying to call the frantic mech.

"Would it make you more comfortable if I was?" she asked without missing a beat. The room fell silent as all optics turned to her, even the CSO staring in disbelief. I could see the cables tighten in her as her wings became stiffer than they had been a moment ago. Red Alert began to nod slowly at first, but it picked up to such a rapid pace, one might think that his helm would fall off.

Trust Jazz to be ever prepared. He took out a pair from his subspace and walked up to Pardus.

"Ah'm sorry," I heard him whisper to her as he cuffed her servos behind her back. He helped her sit in a chair that had no back and walked to stand beside Optimus once more. Ironhide had left as soon as he was released from the med bay, back to the Lennox family. Many humans were going to come and stay at the island now that we had renovated the ship to accommodate them, as well as buildings branching off of the ship under the remains of a once proud volcano.

Jazz preformed the processor scan, and Pardus didn't resist in the least. She didn't flinch or cringe, didn't even move as the TIC went through her processor, finding all relevant information on the last battle, and before. As he withdrew, I saw the femme repress a shiver. I knew myself that even under optimal conditions, a scan is never the most pleasant of things.

As the silver mech shared what he had learned from us, Red Alert was focused on the femme, fright clear in his sapphire optics, sparks coming from his horns. Pardus was well aware of his staring, because she gazed unemotionally right back.

"How about a tracking device?" All speech stopped at the sound of the femme speaking. When we all looked to her, she expounded what she meant by saying, "I could wear a tracking device, if it were only to allay your concerns of my whereabouts."

"Red Alert?" Optimus asked, while Ratchet narrowed his optics at the femme. No doubt the medic was grumbling to himself about having extra work in his medical bay.

"Yeah…yes a tracker…that _could_ work."

"Am I to take that as a yes?"

"Are you sure about this, Pardus?" our leader asked, but she nodded without hesitation.

"I am more than certain, sir. I will try to do my best to eliminate any fears you have about me. I know I've been…distant and angry, unsure of my path, but I have also been ignorant. I wish to change the beat that my pedes follow. Who knows how long it will be before we trust one another explicitly, but I thank you for this chance. If there is nothing more, may I go to one of the sparring rooms before I am called to the med bay?" Optimus nodded, and I could tell he was quite pleased at how she presented herself, at her word choice. I must admit, it was quite diplomatic.

"Jazz, what did you learn?" I asked of one of my oldest friends. Behind his visor, I knew he was raking his optics over us, going over his words before speaking. I have taught him well.

"'Perantly, she saw Shockwave had somethin' in the last battle. Couldn't make out what it was, but whatever he had, it caused her some processor pain. Ah don't think she even _knows_ she's got pressure buildin' up in there."

"Pressure?" Ratchet repeated.

"Yeah. 'Nd when we was talkin' to 'er, 'while ago, in yer office, Ah figured out why she had that bout of static." My curiosity peaked, I leaned forward slightly, bracing myself on a chair before me. "Shockwave put some kinda codin' in 'er, doesn't let 'er talk 'bout him, or anythin' 'bout his lab, what he did ta 'er, or anythin'!" That was worrisome.

… … … …

_And so ends another chapter. Hoped you liked the POV change-up. Have a great day, all!_


	26. Chapter 25

_I don't own anything. And this chapter was not beta-ed, just to let you know, so if it sucks or there's mistakes, they are all my own. Also, this chapter is much...softer than most of my other ones are. Do not worry, there will be action soon. Nothing more up here._

_**Chapter 25**_

I stood in the back of the crowd of Autobots, trying to peek around the much larger frames that were in front of me. Today was the arrival of the humans, an organic race that I had never laid my optics on. So it was only natural that I wanted to see them. Yes, I could've looked at pictures of them on my newly appointed access to the World Wide Web, but that would only give me a general view. I wanted to see what the humans that were going to live here looked like.

Deciding to try and use my small stature to my advantage, I slunk behind everyone, passing quickly around the crowd. They had decided to practically blockade the entrance to the _Ark_, and I had a feeling it had something to do with me. No one besides Prowl, my parole officer, Jazz, and Optimus Prime trusted me. I had a tracking device placed between my wings, a place I couldn't reach, and still no one trusted me to be where I said I would be.

I started to climb the supports and columns that were in reach, going only high enough to see over the helms of the mechs and their bulky frames. The incredibly tall Autobot leader stood regally, with his SIC on his right and TIC on the left. They all watched as a Boeing C-40 Clipper descended, getting closer to the airstrip that lay on higher ground than beach level. I watched with rapt interest as the aircraft slowed and eventually taxied its way over to where the organics could depart. Prowl had told me that there were going to be two loads of humans arriving, over 200 of them, but the next arrival wouldn't be for another couple days.

The organics began to file off the Clipper, while two of them went right up to the pedes of Optimus and his two most senior officers. I couldn't hear what was being said, but it was clear that they were greeting one another. They went back to the aircraft then to help get their cargo off. It was just small bags, probably just the essentials. More would come tomorrow, in another aircraft before the second Clipper would come a few days later.

… … …

I was in the sparring room again, practicing with my swords when I heard the door slide open. Turning away from the holograms as they froze, I saw Jazz standing there with the two organics that had greeted Optimus earlier today. Putting my swords down, because my actual ones weren't activated, I fully faced the three.

"Pardus, Ah want ya to meet Major William Lennox 'n Technical Sergeant Robert Epps," Jazz introduced us. "Guys, this is our newest…recruit, Pardus." The first human was of a fairer complexion than the other, but no less convincing. Among their own kind, one might say that they could be intimidating, however, they did not intimidate me one bit. It takes a lot to make me quake in my armor.

"Major, Technical Sergeant," I greeted, walking over to the trio. "I am Pardus. Nice to make your acquaintance." The second raised his fleshy servo…no, in their language, it's called a _hand_.

"Nah, just Lennox 'n Epps, 'kay?" he flashed me a wide smile. He reminded me of Jazz somewhat. The large grin, happy demeanor, the accent, the slag, all that and more. I nodded then stood back up from my crouch.

"Was there something you needed, Jazz?" I addressed my superior. Yesterday I had been given official rank among the Autobots. However, they understood that I would not pledge anything. They had my loyalty, my protection, my courage, but did not need me to take their oath. I was unwilling, and thankfully they understood that. Some, like Jazz, had thought it would only be a matter of time. Others, like Prowl, understood that I may never recite it, and was completely at ease with that.

"Nope, jus' wanted to let ya guys meet," he answered, grin upon his faceplates once more. "Tha's all."

"I'm sure it was just that," I replied, sarcasm barely lacing my words, but the saboteur caught it, if the glint in his visor and widening of his grin were any indicators. "What did you really want?" I asked in Cybertronian.

"Ratchet wants ya in the med bay right now," he said, staying in our native language. "Somethin' 'bout askin' ya questions 'bout somethin' or another."

"You didn't listen, did you?" It took a trained audio to catch the teasing in my voice, but Jazz had noticed it immediately. Sometimes I wondered how he knew right off the bat. No one else I had talked to had picked up on my dry humor, but yet, somehow he and Prowl were able to. "I will head down at once." I left without another word, but as the door slid shut behind me, I heard Epps ask 'what that was all about.'

I walked into the quiet med bay, instantly on edge. It was never this silent, no matter what. Wheeljack, the explosion-prone inventor was usually in here, chatting in an almost Bluestreak manner while Ratchet repaired him. If that mech wasn't in here, the Twins were, messing around and irritating the lime green medic.

"Ah, Pardus, I see Jazz was able to find you." The old mech stepped from his office.

"Yes, and the tracking device made sure of that," I said, hoisting myself onto the medical berth the mech had pointed to. But what I said was spoken with no infliction, just stated as a fact, and the medic noticed. "What did you need me for, sir?"

"I would like to look in your processor again, to make sure the pressure isn't building. Meeting the humans can sometimes cause our minds to overload, due to their chaotic nature."

"So no questions, just a checkup?" the medic nodded, reaching for the medical port on the side of my neck. "And what do you mean they have a chaotic nature?"

"They aren't like us, which to most mechs is a bit stressful at times. Bridging the gap between two very different species and cultures isn't the easiest thing to do." I felt the unique soothing touch of the medic inside my helm, and I 'followed' him, just observing what he did. Many times, I found myself doing extensive research on a particular subject, just to get as much knowledge as I could. You never know when it might come in handy.

"Well, I'd say you are adapting much easier than anyone ever has, even Bumblebee," Ratchet complimented as he carefully pulled his mind from mine. "Are you sure you've never seen a human?"

"With all due respect, sir, but I'm sure that would show up in one of your many scans." He grunted in agreement, optics going one shade dimmer than before, indicating he was talking to someone on a comm link. He nodded with whatever was being said, then his optics went back to their usual brightness. Ratchet didn't tell me what he was talking about or to who, and I didn't ask.

… … …

After pinging Prowl about where I was headed, as per to the agreement that Red Alert had ranted about a few days ago, I was on my way to the rec room for energon. It was pretty late at night, almost 23:30, so it wasn't surprising that the hallways were empty. However, as I neared the room, the closed door surprised me. Now, normally it was wide open, even if many mechs had a nasty little habit of running into one another entering and leaving the large room. Cocking an optic ridge, I cautiously continued my trek to the doorway, slowly palming open the door. It was one of the few sliders that had to be manually opened.

I made sure my wings cleared the opening before I really took a good look at the room. I barely registered it sliding closed with a soft noise. However, my optics were locked on the scene in front of me. The large television was playing what seemed to be a movie, with various mechs and humans sitting about on the couches and on the floor.

"-cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field," said the younger looking human mech…no, the younger _man_, said to the older, but didn't look at him.

"Oh, so why do you need me?" the elder said.

"Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled," he stated after taking a breath.

"Or not pulled. It's hard to know which in your pajamas." There was a pause before he continued. "Q."

"Double-oh seven." I slowly and quietly left unnoticed, confused beyond belief. Maybe I'd just get my energon at a decent hour and not disturb the group. I was almost to my first turn when I hear the door being opened and shut, and near silent pede-falls approaching me. The spark signature and the 'picture' that formed from the sensory feedback from my wings told me who it was before I turned around.

"Jazz," I greeted lowly, my optics meeting his visor and holding my gaze.

"Why'd ya run away back there?" he asked, and it sounded like he was genuinely concerned.

"I'm really not sure what to think of what I saw back there, so I decided to go back to my room." I could feel his optics through his visor, studying me, but my faceplate and posture revealed nothing.

"Ya felt outta place." Okay, I guess something slipped through, after all. Shoot, I'm going to have to work on that.

"No point in denying the obvious, I guess. However, it is fine, I'm just going back to my berth."

"Why don't ya join us? We ain't too far in the movie." Without any further…explanation, he gently grabbed my wrist, obviously ignoring how I stiffened at the contact, and began pulling me back to the rec room.

"What movie is it?" I asked, grumbling to myself. Oh, why did I have to go and get energon this late at night, on _this _night?

"It's called Skyfall. It's a Bond movie, the latest one, actually." Quickly, I looked up the 'Bond' movie, and found out it was part of the longest running movie series. It was about girls, gadgets, explosions, a bad guy, a plot, and of course, the British MI6 agent, James Bond, otherwise known as 007. I might like this.

Jazz got me caught up in the movie just before we walked in. He brought me over to a little corner, hidden from plain sight of the mechs and humans, but with a great view. After he made sure I was comfortable, he then brought me a cube of the warmed, pink liquid. Just how I was planning on making it. Poking his arm as he sat next to me, I tapped the side of my helm, indicating I wanted to talk, but didn't want to disturb the others. Sure, I was still hesitant of letting anyone in my helm, but I didn't resist as he accessed all my medically offline systems, bypassing their firewalls, and onlined my comm system.

:: Thanks. :: I said to him as I turned back to the movie. The man was talking to a…woman, that's the word, saying something about a 'strapless dress' and a type of gun 'strapped to her thigh.'

:: No probs. Wha's up? ::

:: How did you know just how I wanted my energon? :: I blurted out, not one for beating around the metaphorical bush. Jazz had introduced me to human metaphors not too long ago, so I'd understand if the humans said something of the like.

:: Lucky guess. :: he said after a pregnant pause, and I got the impression he was looking at me out of the corner of his visor. Lucky my skidplate.

:: You can tell me later then. :: I told him, turning off my comm, much to the mild frustration of the silver mech. The saboteur kept pinging me to open the link, but I kept blocking and refusing, making the corner of my lip plates twitch, trying to form a self-satisfied smirk. He even resorted to poking me in the side, even as his visor was locked on the events unfolding on the giant TV.

The movie ended well after midnight, with humans rousing their friends, and mechs dragging the snoring others to their berths. I stood when everyone was gone and stretched, going to dispose of my cube, only to find it wasn't there. I looked to the TIC who had dragged me in here, and saw him grinning widely.

"Ya neva even noticed; it was quite funny," he chuckled, stretching as well. "Well, Ah got an early shift, so Ah gotta head to berth. Night, Pardus." With a smile, he left the rec room, leaving me standing dumbly by myself. Eventually, I gathered myself and went off to my own berth.

As I laid down, offlining my optics and initiating the recharge protocols, and I was near the empty void of recharge, I thought I felt something bite me. However, when I scratched at the area, nothing was there. Shrugging it off, I fell into the abyss willingly.

… … … …

_Well, there you have it. I do not own Transformers, Skyfall, any of the Bond series, or any of the characters. Sadly, this is all quite true. And how I got the over 200 number of service people arriving at Diego Garcia is because the Clipper can carry 121 people, so I decided to go general on this account. Just a fun little fact. For those who don't know military time, 23:30 is 11:30 at night. Don't you ever get those moments during a movie or TV show when you're so into it, that someone can walk in front of you and you don't notice? That's where the inspiration for the 'disappearing' cube came from. I also wonder what that 'bite' was. I don't, but you have fun with that. I'd love to hear your speculations on what just happened right there. Have a great day everyone!_

_Note - Time jump is coming up, be prepared._

_Another Note - Updates are going be slower than usual. No, I haven't given up on this story, it still has a ways to go. However, I have school, work, and I'm trying to workout so I can be healthier. As you can tell, I'm going to be very busy. So, I'm sorry that you should only expect two updates a month at the most, once every two months at the least. Again, sorry for the __inconvenience, but I'm going to be very busy._


End file.
